


A Lily in the Valley

by Xazz



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Aromantic spectrum, Asexual, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Depression, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Jerusalem, Kissing, Kitten, Kittens, M/M, Patricide, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slash, Triggers, flower - Freeform, kitten fic, lily - Freeform, preslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 39
Words: 213,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/Xazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been together a long time, through many hardships. What began as fascination towards Altair's strange interactions with a kitten has blossomed into so much more. For the first time in a while nothing directly threatens the Order and they can peacefully try to grow themselves into better now that Abbas is dead. The only pressing matter now is the next meeting of the Dai and the fact that their next Dai will be a woman. As if Malik didn't have enough to worry about along with juggling his relationship with Altair and their different physical needs and wants and basically running the Order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire Lily

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not redistribute my fics without permission. Please do not translate my fics without permission.

It was a slow day, the sun wane overhead, winter was coming, slowly but surely, like the blooming of a flower. Malik liked winter, there was more rain, or sometimes snow if they were lucky, that was a treat in Jerusalem, not like in Masyaf, high up in the mountains where they got more snow than rain in the winter. There hadn’t been any informants dropping by, or clients and the only sound in the bureau was Malik’s pen as he drew long careful lines marking out the twisting streets of Aleppo. He’d been to Aleppo once, for a spice trader who continuously sold opium mixed with something in it that made people sick. Normally it wouldn’t have mattered to the Order, but a shipment had made it’s way to Masyaf somehow and when two Assassins had died Al Mualim had sent Malik to clean up the problem. That had been years ago, he had been a journeyman then, no full brother would have been sent for a mere spice trader. It had been his first solo mission though and that—

He looked up from his work as he heard movement above on the lattice of the garden. He kept his hand poised just above the parchment before he heard the soft ‘thump’ of someone dropping down onto the stone. A moment later his eyes narrowed slightly when Altair appeared. He was here on a mission, but Malik found it annoying when he showed up unless it was to try and convince Malik he’d collected enough information to earn a feather. 

“Safety and peace Dai,” Altair said, head bowed slightly.

Malik blinked, confused and suspicious of why Altair was being unusually humble or respectful. “I had both till you arrived,” he said not even able to be civil in return. It had been many months since the incident, but it didn’t mean the wound (literal and figurative) was any less raw than it had been, and Malik did not forgive easily. Altair frowned slightly but as always, took the abuse, as though he knew he deserved it (which he did). “What do you want? Come to beg a feather?” he sneered.

Altair shook his head slightly, “I simply had a request. May I borrow a dish?”

The question floored Malik. “What?” he asked and leaned his hand on the counter, pen still gripped in his hand.

“Do I need to repeat myself? If I can’t I will just go elsewhere,” Altair said flatly, nothing in his voice betrayed _why_ he needed a dish or what he was going to do with it. The fact that Altair even wanted one was interesting to say the least.

If only to try and satisfy his curiosity Malik said, “You may borrow one,” he said.

“Thank you,” again with the politeness. Malik couldn’t remember when Altair had been so polite in a long time. Malik did not move, neither did Altair. After a silence that threatened to go on almost too long Altair finally said, “May I have it?”

Malik blinked and blindly reached behind him to grab a plate off the shelf. “Here,” he said holding it out. Altair took the plate and then left without another word. Malik furrowed his brow, following Altair leave with his eyes and heard the soft scuff of boots on the wall as he pulled himself up and out of the bureau. His lips became a thin line and he looked down at his map only to practically scream a curse when he saw that there was a huge ink blot on it. He couldn’t even blame Altair for it either. Which really was the worst part.

Grumbling to himself Malik trashed the map, there was nothing he could do, and pulled out something else to do since he couldn’t even begin to even look at Aleppo right now. Frowning he tugged out some smaller papers and some red ink for invitations he’d been commissioned to make for a party of some sort. They were mindless, unlike map making, and he could quickly push out the entire batch without much thought.

He looked up from his work perhaps and hour later, this time putting his pen out of harms way, to the sound of boots on the roof. He frowned. Obviously it was Altair, but the man didn’t come down. Malik tried to ignore it and took up his pen again to finish the lettering on the last few invitations before he went on to the decorations.

Then he heard Altair talking, he couldn’t make out what Altair was saying, but he could hear his voice. He tried not to think about it and focused on his work, but Altair’s voice kept distracting him. Perhaps it was because even at a distance Malik could hear he sounded… affectionate. For some reason that made him irritant. Also his voice was bothering him. Malik liked to know things, and to be unable to hear someone when they were so close was annoying, much like the man talking.

He put his pen away and set aside his invitations before leaving from behind the counter and entered the garden. Here he could hear the sound of the fountain and the wind overhead, blowing over the top of the lattice. But over them he could hear Altair better. “No, stop that. Shit, look what you did. Don’t look at me like that you’re the one who knocked it over.”

“Altair!” he called up and the sound of the other man’s voice stopped abruptly. “Altair I know you’re up there, who are you talking to?” he yelled, hand on his hip in annoyance.

His eyebrows rose irritably as Altair stuck his head, and only his head, into view. “No one,” he said in a cool, measured, infuriatingly flat, tone. He had the look of someone who’d been caught red handed though. Or Altair caught red handed at least and only because Malik knew him did he detect the slight change in the lines around his mouth that belayed guilt since he couldn’t see Altair’s eyes.

“Then were you talking to yourself, novice?” he demanded.

“It isn’t a matter to you Malik,” Altair frowned now.

“You’re on my roof, jabbering away, distracting me from my work, since you obviously aren’t doing yours. Oh, and you have my plate, so yes, I’d say it does matter to me quite a bit,” he huffed. Altair vanished from the hole in the lattice. “Altair!” he yelled, “Come back here this instant!”

Altair reappeared as before, like he was on his stomach and only showing his head. “Here,” and he held his arm out over the hole, Malik’s plate dangling from his fingers. 

Just before he dropped it Malik darted under it, since he had no illusions that Altair would indeed drop it. He caught it and turned it over to ensure there was nothing wrong with it before almost dropping it at finding a white substance on it. Disgust flashed through Malik that Altair would be so disrespectful before he realized an instant later that it wasn’t the proper consistency and in fact… it was milk? He turned his head up questioningly but Altair was gone again. He didn’t hear Altair again so grumbling Malik went back into the bureau, putting the plate in the back to wash it later and moved up to the front again.

He worked for a bit but kept getting distracted, thinking he heard Altair on the roof. It however was just the wind. Finally he put away his work and gathered up some coin, he was running low on brown ink and gold leaf, both things he’d need to complete these invitations as well as another order he had to finish. Once he’d put his things in order he closed the lattice, and left out through the front door, locking that up after him and went off to the market nearby to get what he needed. Maybe he’d pick up some cream for his evening tea while he was out. He also needed more herbs and some cream for wounds he got from an apothecary. This was turning into quite a list and as he left Malik muttered to himself that he was going to petition Al Mualim for a rafiq to help him, at least someone to run his errands and have an extra arm to carry supplies.

—

Malik returned to his shop triumphant as the sun was nearing the horizon. Not quite sunset though. He had everything he’d wanted to buy and a nice woman had given him a basket to hold all his shopping. It was a great idea actually, Malik didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Possibly because he was too stubborn to think he needed something aside his own hand. He set his basket down and unlocked his door, shoving it open with his hip as he scooped the basket up and went inside.

As he put his basket on the table he looked out to the garden. “Altair!” he suddenly yelled angrily at seeing the man asleep on a collection of pillows in the other room. The Assassin jerked awake and sitting, his hood falling off his head, hidden blade unsheathing as he stared around wildly looking for the enemy. Only to find none. Malik stomped over to the man on the pillows. “What do you think you’re doing?” he accused.

Altair blinked up at him, without his hood Malik could see he was disorientated and confused, not surprising as Malik had just startled him awake and he knew how Altair was when he first woke. He was honestly surprised he got an answer out of the other man. “Sleeping?” he said, still slightly out of it.

“How did you get in here? I closed the lattice,” Malik scolded as Altair wiped his eyes.

“It wasn’t locked. I wouldn’t think you’d mind,” Altair’s voice was small, humble, and weak, as if waiting to be disciplined. Malik only knew it was because he had just woken, he was always softer when he first woke. “I’m sorry I did so without asking,” Malik snorted, unimpressed and Altair felt around for something in the pillows, not a weapon, as he’d left them in a neat pile at his feet, but something else.

“The lattice means I’m not in. It means _go. Away,”_ Malik said sternly.

Altair frowned, shuffled in the pillows a moment longer before turning amber eyes back up at him, “I will remember that and take my rest in a garden box next time,” he still had a confused look on his face. As if he’d lost something.

Malik looked back down at him and rose an eyebrow. “Lose something Altair?”

“No,” Altair said and got to his feet, dusting something invisible off his robes. 

“Mmm,” Malik agreed and went back into the bureau. He picked items up out of his basket and put them away. As he was putting his gold leaf away in a special drawer for his more pricy items he heard Altair moving around the garden, shifting things around. “Don’t mess up my garden, novice,” Malik snapped from behind his desk.

“I’m not doing nothing wrong,” Altair called back. The fact that he’d even answered meant he was up to something. Frowning Malik stalked over to the doorway in time to catch Altair quickly straiten up from where he was sitting as if he’d just sat down in a hurry.

“What are you hiding?” Malik asked slowly watching Altair’s face for subtle clues. He still had not pulled his hood up and was easier to read that way. Of course Altair wasn’t easy to read in general, he’d mastered the art of being blank. But Malik knew him, and knew subtle cues, not enough to see through him, but enough to have greater insight into what he was thinking.

“Nothing,” Altair said and blinked. A lie.

“Yes you are,” Malik said and slowly walked towards him. “Tell me.”

“It isn’t anything? God is it so much that I was rearranging my things before going back to sleep?”

Malik looked up at the sky between the lattice, it was still blue, but starting to deepen into indigo and purple, the sun set quickly during autumn. “It’s not even sunset.”

“I have somewhere to be tonight, I need my rest,” Altair said shortly; anxious.

“Where? Why?”

“It’s for my mission.”

“What then? Tell me. You are required to inform me of your plans,” Malik said with a little smug smirk. Altair’s eyes turned darker and his jaw became tight.

“An informant wanted to speak to me. They said they had information about someone who will tell me how I may get close to Majd Addin, he’s… skittish and agreed to meet me tonight. It’s on the other side of the city,” he huffed.

Malik regarded him for a moment, Altair was telling the truth. Then Altair shifted, a subtle thing more akin to muscle contraction. “And what are you hiding?” Malik continued.

“Nothing,” Altair growled, eyes flashing. That was as good as telling Malik it was _something_ , possibly an embarrassing something. Now Malik really wanted to know.

He sighed in exasperation, “Just tell me Altair.”

“It isn’t anything—!” he started when Malik sat down across from him on the rug, his side to the collection of pillows. “W-what are you do-doing?” Altair asked looking worried now. Malik knew he had him now, Altair only stuttered when he knew he was in trouble, as a child Altair had had a stutter, he’d grown out of it, but sometimes he came out.

Malik leaned forward a bit, “You’re being difficult Altair,” he said patiently.

“Yo-you’re the o-o-o—” he paused, and took a moment to make himself stop as he struggled out the word. God he was really worked up about this. “You’re accusing me of nothing,” he’d just dropped the problematic word. For some reason that made Malik grin, that Altair was so beaten by his own words was entertaining though he knew he shouldn’t take comfort in his disability. But it was always nice to see someone so high and mighty as Altair be bad at something, even if it was just talking. Malik just gave Altair a look as if to say he was just digging a deeper hole, and Altair bristled. Then in a huff Altair flopped down on the pillows and turned away from Malik, refusing to even look at him.

“And here I thought you were a grown man Altair,” Malik sighed in the process of getting to his feet, “It seems you’re more a novice than just in name,” he teased.

Altair peered at him over his shoulder, eyes flicking up to his face before down and staring at something behind Malik with wide eyes. Malik’s eyebrows furrowed and once he’d stood back up at his proper height he turned around to look. There was nothing there but the fountain. When he looked back at Altair he saw Altair was resettling, though was now sitting.

“You’re acting very strange Altair,” Malik informed him.

Altair furrowed his brows at him, “Or maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see Malik,” he frowned deeply, annoyed.

“Well you did break into my bureau-

“It was _unlocked_ ,” Altair reminded him.

“And you borrowed and almost broke my dish ware-

“I knew you would catch it.”

“ _AND_ you were on my roof talking to _yourself_. You are acting very strange,” and he gave Altair a critical look. “On top of it you’re distracting me from my work.”

Altair scowled at him, “Fine,” Altair said in a level, hard voice, “I’ll find someplace else to rest,” and he stood to get his weapons. There was a soft thumb from behind him and Altair froze, not just stilling, but a total body freeze where he didn’t even seem to breathe and he paled.

Malik looked down and around Altair’s legs and blinked in surprise, his brows going up. There, having landed on the pillows, was a kitten. A patchwork of brown, orange and white it was a gangly thing that was so skinny Malik could almost see it’s ribs and was all limbs and paws with huge yellow eyes and a pink mouth that opened in a defiant ‘mew!’ Malik blinked at it, then at Altair who was still frozen in place, a slight look of dread on his face, as well as guilt. 

“This is what you’ve been hiding?” he asked and then it made sense. The milk on the plate, talking to ‘no one’ (since a cat wasn’t a person), that made sense. But the hiding. Malik didn’t get that.

Malik’s voice seemed to jerk Altair into motion and he turned and scooped the kitten up, holding it to his chest. It was perhaps the most perplexing image ever. Altair, cold blooded Assassin… and a kitten that was barely the size of both his hands. “Yes,” Altair said and Malik watched as the kitten licked Altair’s fingers.

“Where in the world did _you_ get a _kitten_?” Altair flinched a little at his tone and Malik realized he might have been a little harsh.

“It followed me,” Altair said defensively.

“Since when?”

Altair’s gaze dropped, “A few days,” Malik knew that tone, it was the one he used, before he’d gotten such a big head, when he stood before Al Mualim for punishment. Such respect should have made Malik feel good; I didn’t.

“Altair, brother,” Altair glanced up at him, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Altair licked his lips, “I thought you would tell me to get rid of her,” he said softly and once again couldn’t meet Malik’s eyes, instead dropping them down to the kitten who was wriggling a little in his hands, but he kept a grip on it— her.

Malik scoffed, “Why would I do that?”

“The Master would have,” and for some reason Malik had a feeling that was a story he didn’t want to hear and had a lot of baggage that Altair didn’t want to share either.

“Well, I’m not,” Malik said just as she started to mew noisily. “Is she hungry?” Malik asked and Altair’s eyes flew up to his in surprise. He just nodded, “Come, I bought cream for my tea while I was out, she can have some,” and he beckoned Altair with his hand before going into the bureau. Altair followed behind him and Malik went behind the desk and pulled out another plate and filled it with cream before setting it on the table.

He was surprised when instead of Altair putting the kitten on the desk he took himself and the dish to the floor. Malik watched a bit of fascination as Altair set the kitten down on the floor before the cream, making a gentle noise Malik had never heard, hadn’t even known Altair was capable of, at it. The kitten mewed and tottled a few steps to the plate of cream before lapping it up, almost falling face first into the dish. Altair smiled.

Malik was so taken aback he actually didn’t know what to make of it. Altair didn’t smile, he just _didn’t_ , or if he did you didn’t want to see it, because it was usually in the middle of a blood bath. But this was a smile, a _nice_ smile, that changed Altair’s entire visage. It made him look young and attractive as he probably was, but was surprising was that suddenly Altair looked… human. Not godly like he pretended, not stoic like so many assumed, not even arrogant like Malik knew he could be.

“Does she have a name?” Malik found himself asking. Altair looked up and Malik was sorry to see the smile go away, to return to flatness, safe behind a neutral expression.

“No.”

“Don’t know any girl names Altair?” he teased.

“No,” his brow burrowed in irritation, “I just haven’t found one that suits her,” and he ran his big hand along the kitten’s spine and other than a rise in the rump it ignored him and continued to lap at the milk.

“Earlier,” Malik started, “on the roof, you were up there with her,” it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes,” Altair answered anyway.

“What were you doing?”

Altair didn’t respond right away, “Feeding her,” he said. As he said that the kitten raised her head and turned around to Altair with a mew. Altair smiled briefly and wiped a bit of cream off the front of her mouth before he picked her up  and put her into his lap. Malik could hear her purring from the other side of the desk. A strange feeling welled up from the pit of his stomach, though Malik couldn’t put a name to it.

“You sounded like you were scolding her,” he added blandly.

Altair looked up at him, amber eyes trying to be blank, but were warm and made Malik’s insides turn over. “She knocked the bottle of milk over,” he said and looked so serious about I that Malik couldn’t help it; he laughed. It had been a long time since he’d laughed, especially about something Altair would say.

“I will be honest Altair, I never expected you to be one to take care of small, helpless, animals,” he said, smiling.

“It is nice to take care of something for once,” Altair said and ran his fingers along the kitten’s head, just behind her ears. It’s eyes were closed blissfully and it purred like it was no where happier than in Altair’s lap. “Especially when there is so much death,” he spoke lower, but Malik managed to catch it.

He pretended to not have heard, “How have you been handling this along with your mission?”

“I put her in a box with water so she won’t follow me,” Altair said, though sounded like he hated doing it. “It’s easier when she isn’t underfoot,” and she lifted her head a bit and Altair scratched her under the head.

“You could have brought her here,” Malik said. Altair looked at him as if the idea had never really occurred to him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even _think_ of that.”

Altair made a slight face, “Why would I have any reason to think otherwise?” he asked. Malik opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it, realizing Altair was right. Malik had never given any indication that Altair was welcome in his bureau at all, of course he would have thought he couldn’t bring his kitten (God that was a strange phrase ‘ _his kitten_ ’) here and she’d be safe.

“Well she can stay here so you don’t have to worry about her,” Malik’s mouth was saying before he even realized he was actually saying it. Once it was out he couldn’t take it back, not that he would. Some part of him related it to the fact that if she was here Altair might not worry (since he worried enough to leave her with water somewhere she couldn’t get hurt), but another, larger, part told him that if she was here Altair would come back and Malik would get to see him be human again, lips curled into a smile that didn’t come from blood. For some reason the thought made him warm.

“Really?” Altair seemed shocked, surprised, and pleased, all at once.

“Yes,” Malik nodded in a way as if he didn’t care, let alone mind. “I like cats, and she’s small enough not to get in the way.”

“Thank you,” Altair said and bowed his head. Then he lifted his head and looked out to the garden and cursed. “I have to go,” he said and Malik looked as well. It was dark outside, but Malik always kept a few lamps burning, so they hadn’t noticed. “You’ll look after Sawsan for me?” he asked and it took Malik a second to realize it was the kitten’s name.

“Yes, of course,” Malik almost stammered.

“Thank you,” Altair said again, he’d never heard Altair give more thanks than this evening, it was strange and couldn’t put his finger down on what hearing Altair being grateful to him actually meant. He stood up, reaching down to give the brown and orange kitten, Sawsan now, a final stroke and silently left the bureau. He heard Altair equip himself quickly and scurry up the wall and out of the garden.

His eyes were drawn back to the kitten, who realizing Altair had left, attempted to waddle after him. She mewed as she entered the garden and Malik watched her sit on the rug and look up at the hole in the lattice. A few seconds later she began to cry, mewing pathetically. Malik went out from behind the desk. “Hey now,” he scooped the kitten up and she squirmed in his arm, mewing. “Oh you poor animal, you think Altair is your mother,” Malik frowned. Poor creature, to confuse Altair with a mother. “It’s okay Sawsan, he’ll be back,” and he pet her to try and make her calm down, she just kept crying however. Malik frowned a little and padded back into the bureau, picked up the plate of cream and set her in front of it. Sawsan looked at the cream, then at Malik with her big yellow eyes and then gave a little, squeaky, meow at him. “Eat,” he ordered, as if it would obey.

Instead, just like the man who took care of her, Sawsan turned around, away from the dish, took a few steps and then promptly lay down and stared at Malik. “Stop looking at me like Altair,” he scolded, because she was. Well, looking at him as Altair had earlier, big eyes slightly lost and mildly afraid. A little part of him melted at those big yellow eyes of hers, and not because of Altair, and he pet her gently. She didn’t purr, but she accepted his petting. Malik then put away the rest of his groceries.


	2. Pine Lily

In the morning he found Sawsan curled up on one of the pillows out in the garden, sleeping. Next to her was Altair, also curled up on the pillows sleeping. Malik couldn’t help it; he smiled. Altair must have come back late, and Malik had left the lattice unlocked and open just slightly for if he returned that night. “Altair,” he called, knowing better than touch a sleeping Assassin, especially one like Altair. “Altair,” he called again and watched Altair blink his eyes open and slowly come into focus. They passed over the room and he assessed that he was safe before rolling onto his back in a sigh of cloth and stretched. Malik swallowed watching and then Altair sat up and rubbed his shaved head blearily. “You need to leave,” Malik said.

Altair blinked at him, “What?”

“You need to leave. I’m going to open my shop and I’m busiest in the morning.”

“Oh,” Altair’s mouth formed a perfect O, hanging open a little too long and Malik had to purposefully fix his gaze on Altair’s eyes which were dazed and lazy in the morning, not as sharp as they became when he finally woke.

There was a long silence.

“Now, Altair,” Malik said.

“Oh, right,” and Altair scrambled to his feet and gathered up his weapons, quickly equipping them to himself and fixing his robes that had become mused in sleep and jammed his feet in his boots. Then, as though he didn’t even think of it, scooped Sawsan up into his arms. “You can leave her,” Malik said as Altair looked about to climb the wall, kitten and all.

Altair turned back to face Malik, “I was going to get her br-

“Leave her, finish your mission, I’ll look after her,” Malik said firmly.

Altair cocked his head to the side a moment and Malik couldn’t tell what he was thinking with his eyes shadowed by his hood, mouth a flat line. Then he walked over to Malik, who eyed him as he reached into one of his pouches, looking away briefly, and pulled out a small, heavy cloth bag. “Make sure she eats, she’s stubborn, like you,” his head tilted to the other side a moment, almost seemed to smirk and then turned on his heel and set Sawsan back down on the pillow and climbed up the wall before Malik could even think of a good comeback. 

He just blinked after Altair, feeling mildly confused about what had just happened then looked down at the bag. He pulled open the drawstring and saw it was coated on the inside to prevent leaking and inside was what looked like, well more smelled like, liver. Altair carried around a bag of liver? Malik made a face then sniffed it again. It was too fresh for him to just carry it around. So did that mean he’d gotten it before coming back? If so where had he gotten it?

Malik suddenly didn’t want to know where a man like Altair would get fresh meat late at night for his kitten.

He picked Sawsan up off the pillow, holding the bag by the drawstring, and carried her and it to his counter and lay her down, she didn’t even wake as he set her down. The bag of liver went on a shelf for when she woke up and Malik went to the pigeon coop in the back to see if any new birds had come in in the early morning. He counted them but there were no new birds so he just fed them some corn and went to open his shop.

When Sawsan woke she walked over to him, he’d started to work on finishing the invitations from yesterday and sniffed at the ink curiously but he brushed her away. She bit his finger. “Hey!” he yelped and almost batted at her so she wouldn’t do it again. But he stayed his hand. She was just a kitten and he really couldn’t stay more than slightly annoyed for long, besides, her teeth hadn’t even broken the skin. “You are as temperamental as your father it seems,” Malik sighed and scratched Sawsan’s head. She mewed, but again, didn’t purr. Malik got out two plates and filled one with cream and the other he put some of the liver, which had been smashed up into pulp.

Sawsan sniffed the liver then turned to the cream and eagerly lapped it up. While she did Malik could work in peace. Then she started to mew and he looked up he saw the cream was gone, but the liver untouched. “Eat your liver,” was all Malik said and turned back to his work. Sawsan squeaked a mew as the door opened and a man in fine clothes and a red silk turban walked in. Malik quickly picked Sawsan up and put her in one of the drawers, grabbing the two plates and putting them on a shelf behind him.

“You’re the scribe Malik are you not?” the man asked.

“I am,” Malik nodded. From the drawer Sawsan mewed, Malik ignored her.

“I need a will written up,” said the man.

“A will? For you sir? Surely you’re in too good of health to need a will.”

The man chuckled, “It is for my father.”

“I see. Well I do not usually deal in wills,” no, up till recently he’d dealt in seeing that wills were used, not written. “I could recommend a college of mine though,” he added. The man agreed and Malik told him about the other scribe, and the man left. Malik went on with his work without a care. More people came in, throughout the day and Malik took commissions or people came to collect what they’d bought. The morning was busy and after lunch as well but as the hours past fewer people came in.

The sun had mostly arced across the sky when Malik heard someone in the garden. His first thought; Altair was back. His second thought; Sawsan was still in the drawer.

He quickly opened the drawer and Sawsan was there, lying down. She looked at him reproachfully when he did so. How a cat and a man could be so alike he’d never know but her yellow eyes were like Altair’s; cold, and irritable. He picked her up out of the drawer and set her on the desk just as Altair came into the bureau.

“Safety and peace Malik,” Altair said as he entered.

“Hello Altair,” Malik said and Sawsan practically fell over herself when she saw Altair. Altair gave a little smile at the kitten and Malik felt something in his gut _knot_ , as if in annoyance. Altair picked Sawsan up off the counter and turned away from Malik. The knot twisted and grew larger as he heard Altair make gentle cooing sounds at the little kitten, almost too soft to hear, and Malik was right there. It made him irritated and for some reason bitter and angry and he hated that he felt either of those things. “So what did you find out Altair?” the words came out in a snarl and Altair turned towards Malik, mouth a confused slash across his face.

“I learned that Majd Addin is going to be holding a public execution in tomorrow and that one of the men he plans to execute is a brother of ours,” Altair said flatly and Malik hated it. He hated Altair’s flat voice when he talked to him and he hated that something that wasn’t even sentient could elect an actual emotion out of the man. 

“And?”

“I plan to stop him. I’ve scouted out the place, they’re building a large platform for the execution tomorrow, at least five men will be executed. I plan on further scouting the area so that tomorrow there will be no way Majd Addin will be able to get past me.”

Malik contemplated Altair, pushing down his own annoyance to focus on the task at hand. “And they have a brother of ours?” Altair nodded and Malik’s eyes drifted down briefly to watch Altair gently stroke Sawsan’s head, which was lolled up against his elbow, eyes closed, looking blissful. “Do not let him kill him Altair. I will have some of our brothers in the crowd, they will take him away if you can distract Majd Addin long enough.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Altair said. “The execution is planned for after midday, Majd Addin likes to rest in the mornings and do ‘work’ in the afternoon,” his voice was touched with a bit of scorn and contempt.

“I’ll get our fellows together,” Malik said.

Altair nodded, “That’s all. I assume you’ll give me my feather?”

Malik wanted to say no, just to spite him. “Yes,” he said.

Altair nodded and left the bureau and went to the garden where he fell onto the pillows familiarly with a content sigh. Malik craned his head to look out into the garden and saw Altair take off his weapons and lay back on the pillows. Sawsan balanced on his chest, tail erect, and from the exposed part of Altair’s face he could see the other man was smiling, and rubbed Sawsan under the chin. She laid across his chest and Altair scratched her behind the ears. 

Malik looked away, annoyed, and wrote several messages on small slips of paper before going back to the pigeon coop and sending out a few birds. They were local birds and had roosts in Jerusalem to some of the Assassins that lived in the city, lower ranked, and carried out duties Malik set to them more so than ones sent by Al Mualim. Once it was taken care of Malik went back to the front to work and pointedly ignored Altair.

The shadows lengthened and at one point Altair left, Malik didn’t care. He was trying hard to forget Altair was even there and just wished he’d disappear. But then as it grew dark he heard him drop back down into the garden and close and lock the lattice.

“Malik,” Malik was putting away his things, having closed his shop, and trying to decide what to make for dinner. “May I borrow a basin and a clean cloth? And a dish for Sawsan,” he added, Malik’s jaw became tight at the second request and he didn’t even want to delve into _why_ that was.

“Certainly,” he picked out a clean plate, he’d washed the two dirty ones earlier, and gave it to Altair. Altair nodded and went back into the garden. As Malik went into the back to get Altair a basin he heard Sawsan mew and he ignored it. He found a clean, empty basin, and a towel and went back outside.

He stopped dead in his tracks before he entered the garden. Altair had stripped down to just his under garments. Malik swallowed looking at him as he carefully folded up his robes as they’d been taught before crouching in front of Sawsan eating a small mound of some mashed up meat. Altair balanced on the flats of his feet and hugged his knees, practically naked save for his underwear and scars, watching the kitten eat, a slight smile on his face. Again he looked young, though perhaps it was also because he wasn’t in his intimidating robes and armor and covered in weapons. His skin was streaked with dirt and sweat, almost as though he had patterned markings across his skin that curled around muscles and slashed through by the paler lines of scars that mapped Altair’s skin like the rings of a tree.

Malik cleared his throat, Altair turned his head and looked at him with half warm eyes, a touch of that smile still on his face. For a second Malik was pleased then realized that neither that warmth nor that smile was for another human being, it was for a cat. A stupid little brown and orange cat who didn’t like liver and only purred when Altair pet her. Malik frowned, Altair’s face dropped at that and he stood and the young and almost innocent man he had been melted away. Standing at his full height, even almost naked, Altair cut a sharp, intimidating figure, all hard muscle and sharp angles set in a frame long ago beaten out of stiffness.

“Your basin,” Malik set it and the towel on the floor and then, barely acknowledging Altair’s bowed head, turned around and stalked back into the inner room.

He went into the back room and got ready for bed himself, undressing and pulling on a sleeping gown that almost covered his knees. Normally he’d have slept naked, but it was becoming cooler at night and it wasn’t advisable less he want to wake cold and irritant. Dressed for bed he went out to the front and double checked the front door was locked and began turning down the lamps. Once he’d ensured that everything was in order in the inner room he headed for the garden so he could double check the lock on the roof lattice. He knew in all likelihood no one would break in through the roof, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Altair was facing away from him when he entered and it took a few seconds and a few steps to realize what he was looking at. Altair sat naked in front of the basin he’d filled with water from the fountain and was washing himself. Malik wasn’t surprised, Altair didn’t like bathing, he had a strange dislike of water even though he could swim, so instead of a bath he washed himself from basins.

He heard Sawsan meow loudly and Altair chuckled, “Shhh Sawsan, Malik will be in even more of a mood if you disturb him,” he said gently and for some reason that made Malik flush, that Altair was _scolding_ his cat so it wouldn’t disturb him. Sawsan mewed, softer now, and Altair reached to the side, probably to pet her, and Malik heard distant purring. There was some splashing as Altair moved towards the basin and pulled out the dripping towel and, getting water just about everywhere (though probably not on his kitten) Altair slapped it over his shaved head and rubbed it roughly across scalp before sliding it down the back of his neck to rub between his shoulder blades. Dirt and sweat and grime and water ran down the curve of Altair’s back, and Malik found that his mouth had gone very dry watching him. Altair’s back was a sculpture, all muscle and perfect planes from climbing and fighting and even with his arms twisted around to wash his back it was a sight few probably had seen outside of a piece of art. He swallowed, seeming so loud that he was sure Altair could hear him, but the man didn’t turn around.

Altair’s head turned to the side, “No, no,” and he dropped the towel behind him to seemingly pick Sawsan up and then put her further away, almost out of reach. “You won’t like that silly thing,” and a feeling Malik could only categorize as jealousy blazed down into the pit of his stomach. Why Malik was jealous he had no clue. He shouldn’t be jealous, certainly not about a cat, and most definitely not involving Altair. Then Altair twisted around to grab his dropped towel and then his eyes flicked up and Malik felt himself being stared at. “Oh, I didn’t hear you Malik, did you need something?” he asked and licked his lips as though he had every right to do so.

“I came to check that the lattice was locked,” he said and was grateful his voice didn’t crack.

“Oh,” Altair nodded and turned back around, dropping the towel into the basin. Malik forced his legs to move and he walked forward till he was under the lattice and peered up at it. He could see well enough in the partial darkness but he thought maybe to grab the pole to check. “It’s locked,” Altair said to the sound of splashing water and Malik turned and looked down, but Altair wasn’t looking at him, instead he was half twisted around to get a spot on his back. Malik’s eyes raked his body before flicking back up to his face when Altair turned strait. “I locked it,” he added.

“You have your uses it seems,” Malik said as Altair dropped the towel back into the basin. Altair just hummed noncommittally and glanced off to the side. Malik followed his gaze as Sawsan had decided to stop doing whatever she had been doing, and came over to Altair, sniffing at the basin water and lapping up a little. She blinked, made a face and then washed her face in dissatisfaction.

Altair chuckled. “I told you you wouldn’t like it,” he said gently. Malik bristled. He hated that. Hated that Altair could be gentle to an animal but to his fellow man he was so cold and callous. Did he really have such a low opinion of others that he would rather not be in their company? Sawsan mewed at him and as if Malik wasn’t even there Altair mewed right back at her, his voice going surprisingly high in that moment. Malik stared, he couldn’t believe Altair had just done that. It was childish for starters and stupid for others. But then Altair was smiling and Malik couldn’t even be annoyed at all.

He knew he should just turn and walk away, go to bed. He knew he should, but he didn’t. Instead he stood within arm’s reach of Altair, as the other man seemed totally oblivious to the fact that Malik was even there, as the sitting man flicked his kitten with a bit of water. She mewed and furiously wiped her face that made Altair chuckle again, still smiling. Sawsan puffed up her fur, tail becoming a bottle brush, and seemed to be angry at Altair. “Stop that,” and Altair ran his hand along her spine, making a soft shushing noise. 

It was almost embarrassing to see Altair like this. Not because of what he was doing, but because of what _it_ was doing to Malik. He knew Altair, more than most at the least. They’d been sort of friends, mostly rivals, growing up, and Malik could read Altair’s silence better than anyone. But he’d never seen this part of Altair, never seen him be gentle, never seen him be soft. It challenged everything he knew about the man and he hated it because it made him so much harder to hate. And really he didn’t hate Altair much anymore, even Malik could only hold on to such flaming hatred for so long. It had become more that he was irritated by Altair’s existence, but he was even losing his grip on that, because it was hard to hate someone who obviously loved something that innocent so strongly. Malik could read that in Altair’s face, had subconsciously read it the moment Altair had paled when Malik had discovered her, terrified she’d be taken away. It was why Malik was jealous, that Altair, who’d known Malik since they were young, could find more companionship in a kitten only a few weeks old, and not him. 

Though he supposed it was his own fault. He’d pushed Altair away when Altair had been promoted higher than him, he’d been envious of his new status. Then the man had gotten his brother killed, which really wasn’t Altair’s fault, but Malik had blamed him anyway. Blamed him because it was someone to blame, since he couldn’t imagine God being so cruel as to take Kadar away from him purposefully.  He knew though, deep down, that Kadar’s death wasn’t Altair’s fault, and that made him hate Altair more at first, because he wasn’t to blame, he had been just as helpless as Malik to Kadar’s death. Altair was shunned by the entire order, after his fall from Al Mualim’s graces no one wanted to know him, and he heard the informants spin rumors about him to the others. Malik had had to yell at some of them once when he’d called them all for information and had seen them gossiping, saying if they had time to gossip they clearly weren’t doing their jobs well enough. It was no wonder Altair didn’t seek human companionship.

He was roused from his musing by some sloshing and Malik refocused, realizing he was just standing there and suddenly feeling foolish. Altair however didn’t seem to mind and washed his arms, water splattering onto the tile floor. Malik stared down at him for a moment, then, without saying anything; left. He didn’t have a single thing he knew he was allowed to say, because he wasn’t worthy of Altair’s time. It was the first time Malik ever felt like that, that he wasn’t worthy. Right now though, he was the very reason Altair was like he was, and had no right to say anything to him.

Before entering the back room to where he slept he glanced back, Altair hadn’t even noticed his leaving and was finishing his wash. Malik felt his lips twitch when Altair leaned to the side and the soft sound of his voice came back to him in that same affectionate tone he always took with Sawsan, a gentle adoration he never showed to any one or thing else. Shaking his head Malik turned away and went into his room, not wanting to think about Altair but knowing he would and wishing he wouldn’t.


	3. Devil Lily

It was early afternoon when Malik first heard the bells. He looked up and frowned, and saw Sawsan run into the inner room from the garden, startled by the noise. Altair had left early that morning with his feather after giving Sawsan her breakfast and once he’d gone Malik had opened his shop as usual. When he heard the bells he left the counter and locked the front door, no longer open for business.

From the corner of the room Sawsan mewed. Malik looked towards her but continued towards the garden, grabbing the long pole he used to close the lattice and slotted it into the fulcrum. The lattice closed with a snap and with a deft twist of his hand it locked. Until the bells stopped ringing he wouldn’t open the lattice again, unless Altair was injured, but he’d never seen Altair so injured that he couldn’t fight, let alone run and hide.

He tried not to worry, he knew he shouldn’t, since Altair could handle himself, but he did because he couldn’t help it. He was supposed to worry though he assumed, because Altair was a very good Assassin and to lose him…

Malik shook his head and tried to do something productive. In the end he went into the back-room and organized his medical supplies _should_ something happen. All the while the bells continued.

They carried on long into the day and only around sunset did they finally cease and Malik went out to the garden and opened the lattice. He frowned up at the empty hole as if he could will Altair to appear, he didn’t. 

Malik returned to the inner room and fed Sawsan, or tried to, she wouldn’t eat liver if he made it so he ended up just giving her more cream and then forced her mouth open to smear liver along her upper pallet. She protested, meowing and hissing and biting and struggling, but she ate the mashed up liver and Malik only got a few scratches for his troubles.

Malik was getting ready for bed when he heard the lattice creak from outside. He’d left it open against his normal routine, in case Altair came back before he slept. Sawsan’s meow was all the proof he needed that Altair had returned and he hiked his pants back up under his sleeping gown before leaving the back room.

“Safety and peace Malik,” Altair was leaning against the frame of the entrance of the inner room, covered in blood. Malik felt himself pale and scrambled over to him.

“Altair, what happened?” he demanded just before Altair collapsed, forcing Malik to catch him. Malik saw the end of an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, most of the shaft broken off.

“Sorry for causing so much trouble,” Altair said in a slight slur and up close Malik realized how pale Altair was, his skin clammy. He had lost a lot of blood.

“The only trouble you cause is not coming sooner you idiot,” Malik scolded and half carried, half dragged Altair into the back, past his own sleeping quarters to a set of cots in another room where Assassins could sleep for the night. Altair never used them, spending his nights in the garden instead. Now he dumped Altair onto them, and Altair groaned in pain.

With quick efficiency Malik shed Altair of his gear, piling his weapons to one side and his clothing to the other till he was just in his underclothes and Malik could assess the damage. He had a new, long, shallow, cut along his flank that would heal easily with only some bandages, as well as a short, deep gouge in his thigh that needed stitches and bleeding steadily. But the worst one was the arrow shaft imbedded in his shoulder, looking like it had just missed his collar bone. That was lucky since there was mostly muscle and not so many important blood vessels and had missed bone. The trouble would be taking it out.

He decided to deal with each wound in manner of importance and went to fetch needle and thread. When he came back Sawsan was scratching at the bed post and Malik didn’t have the heart to keep her down on the floor. He picked her up and put her right by Altair’s ear on his uninjured shoulder. She licked Altair’s face before curling into a little ball and started to purr. Altair was a bit too gone to notice however. Malik cleaned the thigh wound, Altair twitching from the pain and sewed it shut quickly and wrapped it in bandages.

The long cut he wasn’t concerned about, it was barely a scratch, it was just long. He cleaned it to see it wasn’t anything he had to worry over and moved on to the arrow. “Altair,” he leaned over Altair who was sweating a bit now, eyes half closed. “Altair,” he gently patted the other man’s face. He was warm. He made a noise in his throat, “I’m going to pull out the arrow. Try not to move,” he said gravely and Altair managed to nod. Malik braced himself against Altair’s damp chest and grabbed the arrow shaft that stuck out of his shoulder. He counted to three in his head and then in one motion ripped the arrow out. Altair cried out, but he didn’t move, and then he lay there, gulping air. Malik cleaned the wound, stitching it closed, and wrapped it up. By the time he was done Altair had passed out, probably from blood loss, but he was breathing.

Malik sighed looking at the other man and saw he was flushed despite how pale he was. He touched Altair’s forehead, it was warm, but perhaps not alarmingly so. He wiped the sweat from his face and chest and put a wet rag over his shaved head and covered him with a blanket before he decided that was all he could do for now. Sawsan hadn’t moved from her place where he’d put her, in the curve of Altair’s uninjured shoulder, head against his neck, purring.

He went back outside and properly closed and locked the lattice before returning to his room for bed. He forwent the sleeping gown, as it was covered in sweat and blood, and crawled into bed. Malik lay there for a while, listening for any upset sounds coming from the other room. He heard none except for Altair’s slightly labored breathing. Content that the Assassin was in no immediate risk Malik finally allowed himself to sleep.

—

A great crash woke Malik from a dead sleep. He jolted awake and grabbed the knife under his pillow, swinging blindly in front of him before he had time to actually think. He sat there, panting and heard more noise, coming from the other room: Altair. He scrambled out of bed and went to the other room where Altair was attempting to push himself up to a standing position after having fell off the cot. Malik sighed, idiot.

“Altair what are you doing?” he demanded stalking over and jerked Altair upwards. Altair’s were glassy, his face red and sweaty, even just touching his arm burned Malik’s hand like a sun roasted brick. He had a fever. Altair’s mouth moved but no sound came out and he tried to focus on Malik. He hauled Altair up to his feet before pushing him down onto he cot, Altair could barely stand as it was. “You idiot, you’re going to open your wounds,” he scolded.

“I’m sorry,” Altair said. “I just… I just… I need to go,” his voice was slurry and ragged.

“No, you aren’t going anywhere you great idiot,” Malik pushed him down into the bed. “You’re hurt and feverish.”

“The Master is expecting me,” Altair managed.

“That can wait. Tonight you will sleep,” and Malik had to hold him down so he didn’t try to sit up.

Altair’s eyes rolled around in their sockets and took several seconds to focus. “I have to-

“You have to nothing,” Malik said sternly. “As your superior I’m telling you to stay here and sleep.” Altair opened his mouth to reply. “If you do not do as I say I will take Sawsan away,” and he glanced at the kitten who was standing at the very edge of the bed, up against the wall and as far from them as she could get.

Instantly Altair stilled, his eyes going wide and wild. “No!” he cried. Malik was shocked by what came out of his mouth next, “Please don’t take her away. I’m sorry I disobeyed Master but please don’t. Can’t I just keep her I promise it won’t interfere with my missions. Please. Please don’t-

“Altair,” Malik couldn’t listen to him continue begging. “Altair,” he grabbed the man’s chin and made him look at him, “The Master isn’t here Altair,” he said firmly. But the words kept coming, repeated in a cadence of ‘please don’t’ that made Malik feel like he’d done something awful and he didn’t know how to fix it. Malik was rather good at fixing things, he could patch someone up no problem, could fix and repair clothes and armor and sharpen blades and restore books and decode letters. But he didn’t know how to fix this, he didn’t know what to do.

He knew someone who did though. 

They were all the way back in Masyaf though. He frowned at the thought. Still, they’d know what to do, because he _always_ knew what to do. Malik could fix things, but they could fix people.

Altair however was feverous and delirious and didn’t know what was going on. Perhaps he could mimic them and make him calm down, It was worth a shot at least, “Altair, brother, you need to calm down,” his voice developed a different tone and cadence, one it wasn’t used to, but was instantly familiar. Of all their brothers Rauf was perhaps the kindest, at least on the outside though he could be just as cruel and cunning as the rest. He however had more patience than anyone Malik had ever met and dealt with hotheaded, hormonal, cock sure, teenage boys. They respected him and looked up to him and did whatever he asked at his word because he was exactly what they all needed, what they all wanted more than anything; a father.

He was surprised when Altair calmed, mouth closing. Malik was thankful for that, he didn’t know if he could take more begging. “No one will take Sawsan away,” Malik couldn’t even think of doing it now, not after he saw what even mentioning it made Altair into a mess. He continued in the same voice and tone, “Now I need you to stay here and rest.”

“I have to… the Master is expecting me.”

“You’re hurt, brother, he’ll forgive you the chance to heal enough to ride home,” he patted Altair’s shoulder, like Rauf would have. It was strange seeing such an effect on Altair done by a man who wasn’t even really here, though he assumed that in Altair’s mind the man was there. 

Altair nodded, in a fever filled daze. “Rauf,” he croaked and Malik stilled. “Where is Sawsan?”

“She’s here brother, you scared her earlier when you tried to get out of bed. You scared all of us. Don’t do it again,” Altair nodded slowly. “Now just sleep,” he pulled the blanket up over Altair’s body again after swiftly checking his wounds. He stood and as he was taking a step back Altair suddenly grabbed him.

“Brother,” Altair never called him that, so he assumed Altair still thought he was Rauf, “I’m sorry,” that confused him, “No,” he shook his head as if there was something in front of him. “Not you. I-I wanted to tell Malik I was sorry.”

“You can tell him when you see him, brother,” Malik said even as he felt his pulse speed up a little.

Altair shook his head, “He’ll never believe me,” his voice was still slurred, Malik wanted him to desperately shut up and go to sleep now. “Tell him for me, please, tell him I’m sorry.”

Malik swallowed and almost lost his composure, “I will brother, now go to sleep,” and Altair let him go. Malik stood there and waited for Altair to finally sleep. His breathing never totally evened because of the fever, but at least he slept. Malik waited longer still though and not until Sawsan carefully made her way over to Altair’s prone figure and curled up by his head did he return to his own bed.

He didn’t sleep.

—

The shop was open but the day was slow. Malik kept glancing outside from where he was trying to work to watch the shadows and to look at Altair who had made himself at home out on the tile under the lattice. His fever had broken the day after that first night where he’d stayed in the back. But the past three days he fought and complained about being cooped up before Malik resigned to letting Altair stay in the garden, though he locked the lattice and took the pole inside so Altair couldn’t get any ideas. As it was he couldn’t climb anyway because of his shoulder but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Altair was stretched out on a rug, arms and legs at awkward angles, sleeping, looking more like an octopus than a man, with Sawsan sleeping with her head on his hip. Malik’s stipulation for being allowed in the garden was that he hadn’t been allowed his gear and Malik couldn’t even frown at the picture of Altair in just his white robes, pants, and red sash sprawled across the floor like a bird. Not a downed bird though, more like a bird about to take flight.

He grumbled to himself and turned back to his work to ignore the other man. At one point Altair woke up and Malik heard him yawn and stretch, groaning a bit in pain when he stretched his shoulder painfully. Malik tuned him out, concentrating on the familiar lines that formed the streets of Jerusalem. Eventually Malik closed his shop up for the day, Altair had stayed on the rug and Malik shot him a look before entering the garden.

“Are you going to eat today?” he asked sternly, Altair had forgone food all day and dinner the night before. He stood over Altair who was lying on his back, hood having fallen partially off his head in his prone state.

“I’m not hungry,” was all Altair said, eyes flicking from the lattice to Malik above him.

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Uhg! Why do I bother?” and he threw his arms up before stalking off out of the garden and past his desk into the back where there was a small kitchen. He wasn’t the best at cooking, worse than he had been with two hands, but he could wrangle together a simple meal. Rice in a broth with vegetables was easy to eat and easy to prepare. He stayed in the kitchen while the food cooked, not wanting to think about or look at Altair who was being irritating.

He ate by himself once it was all done, staying in the kitchen and trying not to feel like he should go and try and get Altair to eat. If the idiot wanted to starve himself then Malik would let him. Ungrateful jerk. His guilty conscious won out though and once he’d finished his own meal he made a bowl for Altair and went back out to the garden. 

Altair was sitting now, a lamp by him as the sun had set by now, and was feeding Sawsan. Malik narrowed his eyes at the kitten. It always ate it’s meat when Altair fed it but when Malik tried he had to practically force the food down her throat. “You,” Malik announced and stepped in front of Altair, Altair looked up, his hood was down again, “You’re so worried about Sawsan eating yet won’t yourself. That is terribly irresponsible.”

“How so?” Altair asked.

“How do you think she’d feel if you got too sick to care for her?” he challenged, “She doesn’t like to eat when I give her food.”

“I wonder why,” Altair said in a banal tone though Malik detected the slight that it was.

“Eat your dinner Altair,” Malik held the bowl out to him.

Altair looked at it, “If I don’t?”

“Do not tempt me Altair, I will force you to eat if need be,” he threatened.

Altair smirked and leaned back, “I’d like to see you try,” he challenged with that cocky grin of his, the scar on his lips were making his lips split just a bit. Malik looked away from his mouth, back at his eyes, they were confident, that same disgusting confidence he had back at Solomon’s Temple. There was little humanity, and all Malik saw in them was the coldness before the spilling of blood. They weren’t the ones Altair looked at Sawsan with, or the ones someone would or should look at a fellow human with, they were utterly inhuman.

Malik sat down across from him, bowl in his lap and picked up the spoon. “Why are you so difficult?” he demanded.

“Because I ca-

Malik shoved the spoon right into Altair’s mouth. He looked mildly surprised by this and Malik scraped the spoon along his upper pallet and teeth so it stayed in his mouth. Altair had no choice but to chew and swallow. Malik just gave him a smug look, Altair scowled. “Just eat, don’t make me baby you Altair,” Malik said holding up the spoon full of rice again. Altair eyed it but didn’t open his mouth. Malik sighed. “Maybe you’d rather I feed you like I feed Sawsan?” he asked. “With her I have to force open her mouth and push the food in her mouth because _like you_ she doesn’t know what’s good for her and-” he cut off when Altair opened his mouth but said nothing. Malik took it as the permission it was and put the spoon in his mouth, Altair ate.

It was childish perhaps, but Malik wasn’t really complaining since in the past five days or so Altair had perhaps eaten about three meals, some because he was too hurt to even be awake, and then now, him just not eating. Still if Malik spoon feeding him got him to eat he would do it, the Master wouldn’t approve of Altair becoming sick simply because he refused food.

Malik gave a tug on the spoon when Altair bit down on it and didn’t let go. “Stop that,” Malik scolded and saw Altair’s lips twitch and his eyes grow playful. He swallowed, unused to emotion from Altair directed towards him (or anyone for that matter and his fever thick confession still settled uneasily in his stomach). Malik gave another tug and almost fell over backwards when Altair let go. Altair chuckled and Malik scowled shoving the spoon back into his mouth before he could say something annoying.

Altair grunted and pushed the spoon around in his mouth with his tongue, somehow swallowing before letting go of the spoon. Malik felt the back of his neck prickle as he pulled the implement back and Altair’s tongue glided over the ceramic surface. Then he was looking down when Sawsan mewed and the playfulness was gone, replaced by that glowing adoration and Altair rubbed Sawsan all over. Malik looked down as the kitten rolled onto her back, squirming as Altair scratched her belly.

Malik cleared his throat and Altair looked up questioningly, Malik just motioned with his spoon and Altair obediently opened his mouth. Malik pulled back just at the last second though and Altair leaned forward, following the spoon with mouth and tongue before clamping his lips around it, sending Malik a look. Malik didn’t quite know what to make of it either. It was a look like a dare and expectation that made his scalp prickle. Malik looked away and down at the bowl in his lap, scooping the last bit of rice into the spoon. He huffed a bit of a sigh and looked skyward, offering Altair the last bite. He glanced at Altair when he felt him bite the spoon and saw, much to his irritation, that Altair looked blank again, as if any of those emotions he’d seen had been imagined.

Once he got the spoon back he stood and took the bowl and the two dishes Sawsan had eaten out of and took them to the kitchen so he could wash them later. He planned on doing a bit more work before going to sleep now that he didn’t have to worry about Altair keeling over from hunger. As he went to set up behind his desk he saw Altair playing with Sawsan.

He was on his stomach, propped up on a pillow, holding a tassel from a pillow over her head. Again he was smiling, one fist jammed up under his cheek as he played with his kitten, making the tassel dance just out of reach of her paws. Then, when she got it he laughed. Not a chuckle, not a snicker, both usual forms of amusement from Altair; a laugh. Malik leaned against the desk and just watched unable to take his eyes off the two.

Altair’s voice drifted over to him, though he couldn’t hear what was said, and he continued to make the tassel bob and Sawsan chased it, tail erect and scampering after it with youthful exuberance. Each word he said was curled around a smile and the longer Malik watched the more irritated he became by it. Some part of Malik wanted Altair to look at him like that, if only to show that he did need the human interaction, did find people more than something he thought were better off cut open on his blade. He’d seen Altair was capable of it, hadn’t he enjoyed toying with Malik over dinner? Obviously he was able, so why did he only show this side of himself to an animal? Smiling he was attractive and Malik wanted Altair to smile at him too.

Malik blinked.

Malik al-Sayf had just thought Altair was attractive. He could understand that men were good looking, from a objective stand point. Yet he’d just thought about a man’s attractiveness from a very unobjective stand point. He was certain he should be more upset or shaken by this revelation, but he wasn’t. He’d grown up around men with very limited contact with women, and the ones around were usually those in Masyaf’s garden where Assassins could relax and handle their bodily needs. Some were pretty, some were ugly, or he supposed anyway, Malik never paid much attention to them. He found more grace in men truthfully, the way they moved with a sword could be like watching poetry, even the way muscles moved under skin was more preferable over the soft, pale, flesh of a woman. So was he particularly distraught by the thought? No, not particularly. Was he surprised to be having it about Altair? Yes, in every version of the word.

The thought however wouldn’t be snuffed and watching Altair made him feel a dark heat rising in him. He wanted Altair to look at him like that, he wanted to see the humanity painted so clearly across Altair’s face that he could never hide behind that stony mask of indifference again. More than anything he wanted to see Altair appear _human_ , appear as something else than an avenging angel or some sort of pagan god sent to bestow misery to the non believers.

Before he knew what he was doing Malik left his place from behind the counter. Altair glanced up at him when he sense him enter, but quickly turned back to Sawsan who was batting at his hand with sheathed paws. His mouth was curved into a smile and Malik found he couldn’t look away. When he stood in front of Altair he bent down and scooped Sawsan up into his arm.

“Hey!” Altair cried in protest. Malik just hummed smugly and walked back into the bureau, he heard Altair scramble to his feet. Malik opened a drawer under his desk and put a protesting Sawsan in it. “Malik, give her back,” Altair’s eyes were on the drawer, his face a mask of worry and confusion.

“I will,” Malik said.

“Now,” Altair growled.

“Or what?” Malik stepped closer to the other man. Altair stood up to his full height, they were evenly matched and shared their height. Malik had no lost any of his muscle since his ‘captivity’ practicing and keeping in shape should he ever need to fight, and his body had always been thicker than Altair’s, more full of muscle while Altair was more whip-like, muscles as hard and sharp as the blade of a knife, quicker to Malik actually being stronger. There was no clear advantage here beyond Altair’s two hands, but even that was questionable, and when Altair looked him over Malik knew he knew it was barely an advantage.

“Do not test me. Give me my cat,” Altair hissed, almost hatefully, right in Malik’s face. It sent a shiver down Malik’s spine.

“You’re very bossy Altair, for a novice,” Altair narrowed his eyes at him.

“She’s _mine_ , give her back.”

“I will,” he assured.

“Now,” Altair repeated.

“In time Altair,” and he cornered Altair against his desk. Altair’s hands came down instinctively to grab the edge of the wooden desk. “Once I’m satisfied with your behavior.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Altair was glaring at him, and Malik wanted to turn his face inside out and set it on an entirely different edge.

“Like you don’t know,” Malik allowed himself to smirk, just a little, remembering feeding Altair and the playful look in his eyes, the sort of taunting it held that had confused and surprised him at the time, the was his tongue curved around the utensil. Now it made him sort of bothered and he felt a rush of knowing something not quite right was happening between them,

He watched as Altair swallowed and then pushed back firmer into the desk even as Malik pressed his hand to Altair’s chest. Altair sucked in breath when they touched and Malik traced the invisible line down the middle of his body over his clothes. Altair was warm under his touch, a contrast to the cooling night of Jerusalem’s winter. Heat blossomed in Malik’s abdomen, a slowly expanding thing that set his veins on fire, a slow and deliberate burn of it that made him cocky and brave, as Altair suddenly was uncertain and nervous. He rather liked the look on Altair’s face, to see him knocked down a peg or two.

Altair gave a soft gasp and the wood under his fingers groaned when Malik slid his hand lower and under his robes to palm him through his trousers. What he didn’t do, however, was tell Malik to stop. So he took it as a sign to continue and pressed firmly against him, Altair grunted but didn’t move, didn’t even flinch away from the foreign touch. Malik nudged him back further and there was nowhere for Altair to go but onto the counter, sitting there grasping the edge and Malik grabbed him by the front of his tunic and pulled his face close to the point their faces were almost touching. Altair’s face was smooth, but Malik could read his eyes, they were wary, and nervous for a moment before suddenly icing over. Malik narrowed his eyes with a slight growl and his hand dropped lower and tugged at the ties of Altair’s trousers. Altair only swallowed when Malik’s hand slid inside.

Half scowling at the man on the table Malik moved his hand up and down, watching, waiting, for Altair’s veneer to crack. Altair’s eyelids fluttered a little and and bit down hard on his bottom lip but showed no other signs, despite a deepening of breath, and still the wood of the desk creaked under his fingers. He was able to keep up that blank mask and now, especially now, it _infuriated_ , Malik.

His hand tripped up and pulled off Altair’s sash, Altair didn’t stop, or help but Malik felt the way he trembled just slightly when Malik dragged his fingers down his skin so that his robe hung half open. Altair swallowed again and without warning Malik attached his teeth to Altair’s throat, that earned him a grunt even as he bit and sucked a purple mark into Altair’s skin. He could feel Altair’s pulse on his neck as he moved along Altair’s skin to claim more with his teeth and tongue, it was galloping along and Malik smiled smugly into Altair’s flesh. Though he could pretend all he wanted, blood always told the truth. He didn’t even care if Altair liked what was going on, he just wanted to see that hideous blankness wiped from his face. 

The desk protested under Altair’s hands when Malik pushed against him and Malik felt Altair’s throat work under his lips. Malik had covered half of it with his bruising mouth, a sign to anyone who looked that Altair could be harmed, was not some _god_. Then, what Malik had been waiting for escaped Altair’s mouth, a low whimper, for what he didn’t know or care but it was a reaction to whatever Malik was doing: so he did it more.

He reached back into Altair’s trousers and pleasured him, stroking quickly with one hand, Altair whimpered again and shuttered where he sat. Still he didn’t pull away and allowed Malik to do whatever he pleased. When Malik finally pulled away from Altair’s neck, which was covered in teeth marks and bruises in the shape of his mouth, he saw that the other man had his eyes closed and he was panting softly, his lower lip glistening when he licked his lips. Malik was pleased by this, but he could see the way his mouth was turned down just slightly, that he was trying to maintain his composer. Malik wasn’t about to allow that.

He looked down, Altair’s hands were gripping the desk so hard the knuckles were white, and Altair’s cock in his hand was hard. Malik was suddenly made aware of his own, which he felt aching beneath the confines of his trousers. A shuttered breath left Altair’s mouth when Malik removed his hand, almost as if glad Malik was no longer touching him. Malik pulled at the ties of his own trousers and when he looked up Altair had his eyes open again, looking down, a flush had risen high on his cheeks. His eyes flickered upward and he licked his lips. 

His eyes did something totally unfair to Malik that made him want to burn that look into his memory. It wasn’t want, or even really arousal, maybe slightly, but it was a silent acceptance of what was happening and the fact that somehow, this amazingly impossibly and forbidden thing was happening. They were slightly perplexed as well but they fluttered closed when Malik pushed up against him again, the both of them in his one hand. Malik stroked the both of them and Altair’s breath deepened to match Malik’s who had had trouble keeping it together already and almost became undone at the whimper he got out of Altair and the sudden low groan that almost seemed pained.

“Altair,” Malik’s voice was surprisingly steady. Altair didn’t respond, “Altair,” he said and gave the man’s balls a squeeze, though not painfully so. Altair’s eyes flashed open, they were glassy and distant, but not in the high-and-mighty sort of way. It was in fact, rather humbly, because Altair looked human, different from his smile, but now caught up in his own head about what was happening. He watched Altair’s tongue dart out and wet his lips again before his eyes tried to focus. Seemingly on anything really even as Malik got to watch him tip over the edge whatever he had wanted to say totally forgotten.

Malik never thought he’d get off on getting another man off, let alone on watching him come. Altair came with a shout, staring up at the ceiling and the desk groan from his tightening hold and in that moment Malik felt smug satisfaction as well as such arousal it was almost painful. That was exactly what Malik had been looking for, the blank mask Altair wore was just _gone_ , and humanity was stark across his visage as his orgasm rattled his body.

It didn’t matter if Malik came after that, he wasn’t even sure if he had even as Altair slumped in front of him, head bowed, gasping and body shaking. All Malik cared about was that he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do, Altair would never be able to hide from Malik behind stony indifference. Malik had burned that look of humanity on Altair’s face in that moment into his mind and would always be able to see it. He released Altair and stepped back, he was limp in his hand but it was inconsequential and he turned away from Altair and opened the drawer. Sawsan mewed and blinked up at Malik with her big yellow eyes.

“Here you go Altair,” Malik said turning back to Altair who seemed to be getting himself quickly together, at least back in his pants. Malik just rolled his eyes at him and Altair regarded him cooly, not blankly, but a cool look before he grabbed his hood and yanked it up over his eyes like a shield. Altair just took Sawsan from Malik, not saying a word and walked strait backed back to the garden and sat amid the rugs and pillows as if nothing had ever happened. Malik watched him for a few moments, contemplated bothering him some more, than left Altair to his own desires and went to bed.


	4. Moon Lily

It was cold the next morning, Malik swore he could see his breath, but he was sure he was just imagining it. Wistful thinking really. Cloudy breath reminded him of winters in Masyaf, where it snowed every year and the world was as silent as the moon overhead, or as a reflection on the lake in the valley. Those days the sky was so amazingly blue up at that altitude and they could see some of the lowest clouds rolling in on the higher valleys or see the start of snow caps on the sides of other mountains, above the tree line. Malik always said that on those days the sky was the same color as his brother’s eyes, a clear, pristine, cold, blue that hurt to look at and almost shouldn’t exist in such a world of heat and sand and wind and the play of blood on the silver gleam of steel.

He blinked as he looked up at the lattice. It was closed but the lock wasn’t engaged. The lattice created bars across the cold blue sky, containing and restricting against flight like a bird cage.

Altair was gone.

Malik looked around the garden and saw Sawsan curled up on a pillow, a bag of what Malik knew to be meat next to her. He frowned and picked up the bag and opened it. Not liver. Something else. The texture looked like tripe. With a huff Malik went back into the bureau, putting the bag of mashed tripe onto the shelf for when Sawsan woke. He opened his shop as he always did and went about his cover job.

When she did wake she wandered around first the garden, then inside the bureau, and Malik watched her slip into he back room, no doubt to investigate there too. Then she started to cry and mew, right at the doorway of the back room. Malik had to excuse himself from his patron, who leaned over the desk to see the kitten, and Malik fed her. She ate the mashed tripe and milk without complaint. He patted her before going back to the man who was waiting there and finished his order.

The day passed, Malik waited for Altair to come back. He didn’t. Eventually he had to close and lock the lattice and went to bed. Sawsan slept in the garden on the pillow she had the night before. A red one with designs of lilies done in white on one side, and the other side had calligraphy done in yellow, full of goose feathers that she sank into like a bed. Malik left her there and crawled under his blankets and went to bed.

Altair didn’t return the next day. Or the next. Or the next. Malik didn’t even wonder where he’d gone. He’d finished his mission, he was well enough to ride (barely), he had no reason to remain in Jerusalem. No. No reason at all. It was still so _frustrating_. It was like nothing had ever happened. Altair was back on his mission. Back to trying to regain his honor, his position.

And yet…

He looked out to the garden where Sawsan was sitting in front of her pillow, it was nothing else but her’s, cleaning herself. Nothing had changed. Nothing except that Altair had left him in charge of something he cared for, something he loved. He frowned a little thinking of it. Altair was not a man who loved, he wasn’t even a man someone could love, not easily at any rate. He was a tool, a machine, a toy soldier with a deadly blade that had such a bite and loved the taste of blood. Yet, there was Sawsan. The one thing that went against everything Malik or anyone had ever thought about Altair. It showed he could care, that he had a heart and that he was capable of more than just being a hunting hawk to the Master.

Sawsan.

Altair’s heart.

And Malik was trusted to take care of something that precious. Something that small and fragile and innocent. 

It was everything Altair didn’t want anyone to know about. Everything he was terrified someone would find out and hurt and destroy.

And it didn’t really like Malik. It was in the way the tabby didn’t really like it when Malik pet her, would squirm when he held her, and never slept in his room. She always slept out in the garden, on her red pillow covered in lilies.

That frustrated Malik. He couldn’t even win over a cat, a cat that Altair saw fit to love more than any actual person. At least he didn’t have to force it to eat the tripe and milk.

Weeks passed, Malik fell into a new routine that had started when he first found out about Sawsan. He woke up, ate, put food out for Sawsan, opened his shop, spoke with informants, gave out small jobs to the assassins in the city, completed commissions, fed Sawsan again, had dinner, slept, and did it all over again in the morning. Soon Sawsan was no longer a kitten, but a cat, her yellow eyes darkening to amber, the white of her fur mostly faded and she became more orange and brown, striped down her tail in umber and the tip of her tail was all that remained of any white markings she had. Sawsan was a lean cat with long legs and a rather mellow temperament. She’d eat right out of Malik’s fingers and let him pet her a little, sometimes let his patrons scratch her behind the ears, but she was aloof and didn’t really like people. 

Malik thought she was very much like her ‘father’, Altair. Cool and aloof and she even looked at Malik with the same intense amber eyes that sometimes almost looked at him accusingly, as if Malik should know exactly what he’d done but he didn’t. At least not at first.

He was cleaning out the garden.

Sawsan had decided one of his rugs made good scratching material and he’d left her outside of the day. He did that, she always came home for dinner and it was easier than listening to her pace. He had to throw out the rug and took the time to sweep and tidy the place up, rearranging pillows and contemplating what he should do if it started to snow. He’d have to keep Sawsan inside, and bring in the plants. She’d hate that, being kept in. Another trait she shared with Altair. She hated being contained, being locked up.

He was picking up Sawsan’s pillow, which hadn’t moved since she took up residence there, none of the other Assassins who’d come to the bureau for jobs touching it as though they knew it wouldn’t be welcomed, when he saw it. A note had been under the pillow. He doubted it had started there, since usually notes weren’t secret things between brothers. Usually they were meant to be read. He leaned down, resting his broom in the crook of his arm, and picked it up. It was dried out and crinkled when he opened it and leaned against the broom.

It was from Altair. Malik recognized that nearly unreadable scrawl anywhere. Altair’s penmanship had never been the best. Where he acceled with the sword he fell short with the pen and he was never the most eloquent writer, his calligraphy always rather sloppy as if he couldn’t even find the time to fully form the words. Once Malik had asked why Altair was such a failure at writing because they were both serving some sort of punishment. Malik couldn’t remember what he’d been there for, dawdling maybe, or fighting outside of the ring, maybe over sleeping. It wasn’t important. They’d been mucking out the stalls, Altair was there for failing his lessons, he never paid attention during them and always seemed to be off in his own head, and couldn’t really concentrate. It was only there though that Altair was ever daydreamy, ever distant in a way someone who thought too much was. Physical training brought out Altair’s razor sharp edge and intense concentration.

His answer had always surprised Malik. It was why he’d tried to help Altair with his calligraphy even though he said he didn’t care and why his characters always seemed half formed and out of order, sometimes entire sentences written backwards or the grammar mangled into something you couldn’t read. He’d wanted to see what would happen if Altair could write properly. He’d told Malik, from pestering, that he didn’t like writing because it took too long, he couldn’t get what he wanted to say to ever come out fast enough to keep up with his thoughts. Right after he’d recited an entire verse of the Torah, in Hebrew, and then what it meant and Malik had been surprised. After that Malik had wanted to know what went on in Altair’s head. A strange obsession that had waned into adulthood but apparently had never dissipated completely it seemed. Malik still wanted to know what went on beyond those cool amber eyes, ones he was sure saw more than he would ever know or that Altair ever let on to.

Malik’s interest and tutoring meant that he had a more intimate understanding of the scrawl that passed as Altair’s penmanship. Half the characters were either malformed or incomplete but Malik could read it with just a bit of difficulty. He’d wrangled longer passages out of Altair when they’d been children and had managed to decipher them, but only after long studying and asking Altair, since only he seemed to be able to make heads or tails of his writing. Something that left many an instructor with a headache as they tried to read his work and failed to do so. This note however was short and wasn’t even signed or even said to Malik, though he knew it was because of the context. Even if the content was confusing itself.

‘Don’t forget you said you’d take care of Sawsan.’

Malik’s brows came down and furrowed. He didn’t understand Altair’s note. He read it a few more times, exchanging some characters for others in case it was a misread, as reading Altair’s script wasn’t an exact science, but what else did fit didn’t actually make sense and that just left the first translation. Why would Altair remind him to take care of Sawsan? He’d said he would.

He looked up at hearing something above him. As if summoned by this thoughts Sawsan was walking across the lattice to drop down in the middle, her limbs hanging through the openings of the grill and going to sleep in the light of the wane autumn sun. He tore his eyes away from the tabby and back down at the note. Did Altair think so little of him that just because he wasn’t here he wouldn’t take care of the cat? Malik might have a temper, but he wasn’t evil, nor was he cruel. Sawsan had been a kitten when Altair had brought her to the bureau and needed to be looked after. Now of course she could look after herself but tha-

The shop door opened. He quickly pocketed the note and left the garden.

“I’m sorry, the store is closed for the day,” he said to the young man who came in. He wore the clothes of some sort of apprentice, and seemed nervous. “Is everything all right young man?” he asked.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you sir. I’m an apprentice of Abdul Hadi. My master sent me to get the work commissioned from you,” he rattled off.

“My door was locked,” Malik said slowly. “You’re going to have to leave.”

“I can’t. Please, I need what you were commissioned for, sir.”

“And just what did he commission?”

“A new manuscript of a Greek comedy, sir.”

Malik thought a moment. “Yes, I remember. It isn’t ready yet.”

The young man seemed stricken by the information. “It isn’t _done_ yet?”

“No,” Malik said. “I’ll be done with it in a day or two.”

“I needed it _today_ ,” said the young man. “My master needs it.”

“Well there isn’t anything I can do,” Malik said patiently. “I am a busy man boy, and your master’s commission isn’t the only work I do.”

“You said you’d have it done on the date required,” he insisted.

“And if I remember correctly, the date required is in two days time. Now please, leave, and do not pick my door again or I’ll report you to the guards.”

“Bu-

“GO!” and Malik made as if to swing his broomstick at the youth. The young man bolted, slamming the front door behind him. Malik sighed, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath before going over to the door and locking it. He would get another lock, one that locked on the inside, so it wouldn’t happen again.

As he walked back to the garden to finish cleaning up he pulled out the note and read it again, put it back, and let himself puzzle it over. He rolled the scratched up rug up to be thrown out and found that during the confrontation Sawsan had come down from the lattice to curl up neatly on her pillow and looked asleep. He wasn’t quite sure she was though, she often feigned sleep when he was near. It was like she tolerated his presence, but didn’t quite welcome it.

He nudged her pillow with his broom to get her to move and her eyes flashed open. She tilted her head a little and stared up at him with those cool amber eyes. This time there were accusations in them. A guilty verdict that made him feel uncomfortable. “Get, I’m cleaning,” and he overturned the pillow. She jumped away and hissed at him a little, batting at the broom end with unsheathed claws. Stupid cat. Then she looked at him again, eyes reproachful and strutted into the bureau, tail twitching. Malik rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing.

He was throwing the pillows into a pile— sans Sawsan’s pillow, which was off to the side— when he suddenly froze. He’d been mulling over Altair’s note, trying to determine quite what it meant, since obviously it meant more if Altair had actually made himself wrestle the words out of his head and onto paper, when he realized why the words seemed so… odd. They’d been written as if to imply that he’d _bought_ something. In fact, they sounded a lot like the young man’s words, that had made him realize it actually. He stood up strait and pulled out the note again and reread.

With an agonized groan Malik ran his hand down his face.

So it seemed Altair was under the impression he’d had to buy, or make a trade for Malik to do something like take care of his cat. Only it was more than that. Sawsan wasn’t just Altair’s cat. He remembered seeing Altair, in a haze of fever, begging him, who he thought was Al Mualim, to not take her away. A sort of desperate need to not lose something that wasn’t something someone expected an assassin to have. Sawsan was a piece of innocence Altair didn’t want anyone to know he had, and didn’t want anyone to touch, or destroy, perhaps the last piece, for it was hard to retain your innocence surrounded by so much death. He thought he recalled Altair saying something like that, it was good to have something not so tainted with death. He’d been so desperate to make sure that no one knew she existed or know that he was weak, that he was even capable of being weak.

Malik felt his knees actually start to tremble a little and he sagged against the wall. Altair had thought he’d needed to give Malik something to ensure that Malik took care of Sawsan, took care of something fragile and innocent and pure. And what had he given to Malik, for obviously the payment was already received? It left a foul taste in Malik’s mouth thinking of it and remembered the glossed over look to Altair’s eyes as he let Malik touch him, let Malik…

“Damnit all,” he growled and pounded his fist against the wall at himself.

All an Assassin had was their body. They all knew that in the end they were disposable in the war against the Templars and would willingly sacrifice their lives to a sword, and throw their life into the line of fire knowing that they could die. Their lives were not their own, they owed it to the Order who raised them, protected them, gave them a family and food and training and schooling and purpose. In return for all these things an Assassin was expected to give up his life should the time come for the cause, and it was always given readily, sometimes even gladly. A mortal life was just one stage of life, once this life ended, the one in heaven began, with all the bounties of beyond at their disposal. Assassins owned nothing. Their clothes belonged to the Order. Their weapons. Their armor. Everything an Assassin could need belonged to the Order, personal articles weren’t encouraged. They were blades in the crowd and to be different was to be seen, to be seen was to lose your life, and while expendable no one wanted to see a life wasted without it being able to give it’s full to the Order. All that was left to the Assassin was their being, their body, because it was the only thing the Order couldn’t own. It was all theirs. Their one permanent possession that could not be taken by the Order.

And Altair had given his to Malik.

No… not given. 

Malik had just _taken it_.

Malik pressed his hand to his mouth, feeling ill. He’d done something unforgivable. Some part of him said he shouldn’t feel guilty. Altair had done as worse to him. He’d helped bring about Kadar’s death and played a role in Malik losing his arm. But somehow it didn’t feel as bad. Kadar’s death and Malik’s personal lose was not strictly Altair’s fault, he and Kadar could have run, but they hadn’t. They were just as prideful as Altair to think they could take on those Templars.

Now Malik had done it. He’d taken something he should never have, didn’t even deserve, because he was petty. He knew he was. He was jealous of a damn cat for God’s sake! Jealous that a cat could get such a human reaction from a man who’s head he’d always wanted to get inside and had only ever been able to get to see from the surface and attempt to see within the dark depths. All he’d wanted was to see beneath the hard shell Altair wrapped himself in, know what went on behind those amber eyes of his, see him as as human as the rest of them. He’d seen it all right, seen it and wrung the emotion out of Altair forcefully because he thought he deserved to see, to know.

Sawsan meowed a little and his eyes tracked downwards. She sat a foot or so away, looking up at him with those big amber eyes of hers, cool, judgmental, and hungry. He looked away from her and went into the bureau and into the back to prepare her dinner. When he set the plate down with some nice bite sized chunks of meat he stayed bent over to pet her. Sawsan’s rump lifted as he ran his hand down her spine, but like always, she never purred. Sawsan didn’t purr. At least not with Malik, for he’d only ever heard her purr for Altair when she’d been a kitten.

He prepared for bed early, closing and locking the lattice and burned Altair’s note, feeling dirty even having it around. He cleaned himself and went to bed, having no stomach for dinner and just lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was fairly sure he didn’t sleep that night and had to drag himself out of bed the next morning.

—

Malik tried to put the thought out of his mind. He also tried to rationalize it. The scene of it replayed over and over again in Malik’s mind. Altair, his rope gaping open at the front, face flushed, trying to contain himself, hands making Malik’s desk groan, the feeling of Altair’s skin under his hands. 

He hadn’t really thought of it much until he’d found the note. In fact he’d barely at all. After he had thought it was almost all he thought about it and he hated himself for it. Malik had no right to think about Altair’s scar-crossed skin, or how even in the early autumn then his skin had been warm under his hands and almost soft from being out of the sun under his robes. He kept remembering Altair’s eyes, sometimes open, sometimes closed. They had tried to be cool, remain detached from what was happening, what Malik was doing, but they couldn’t, Altair was human after all. He reacted to what was happening. Malik thought Altair looked good like that, able to express with his eyes, things few, if any, had ever seen.

That line of thought always made him feel guilty.

He didn’t even know if Altair had any experience with another person. He’d always… seemed so busy, too busy to worry about things like sex or the touch of another person. As it was he didn’t like being touched, and seemed to tolerate it only when required. That sort of thinking made him crazy and pound his fist on his desk which always drew Sawsan’s eyes if she was around, amber eyes curious, careful, and reminded him so much of Altair it was a physical ache to his person. The idea that _that_ was Altair’s first anything drove him crazy and he rationalized away that idea. Of course Altair had been touched before. He wasn’t some eunuch, he had to have needs, and there were the women in the garden at Masyaf to help the men with them. Boys weren’t allowed there, but Altair wasn’t a boy. If Malik allowed himself to think otherwise he knew it’d be detrimental to his mental health.

He also thought about what he’d do once he saw Altair again. Would Altair even care? He’d let Malik take the one thing he owned from him without consent, all with the thought that unless he did so Malik wouldn’t take care of his cat. A cat that was a cat and not just a cat and might as well have been a piece of Altair’s soul from how similar they were. In Malik’s mind Altair had traded Malik his body to protect part of his soul. It was an unfair and unjust trade. Malik would have looked after Sawsan even if he hadn’t been overcome by his jealousy and temper and let himself do that to his fellow Assassin.

Several more weeks passed, Malik eventually made himself so busy with work that he couldn’t even think of Altair. He refused to dwell upon it because it got him no where except a slow downward spiral. 

The funeral for Majd Adin was being planned still. He’d left instructions that he was to be embalmed upon his death, in a specific manner. A bit of a strange request, but as Regent of Jerusalem his wish had been carried out. The funeral was finally drawing near as the embalming was finished and the ‘mourning celebrations’ were prepared. Soon nobles and other important people would be arriving to pay respects to the late regent. Rumor said that a contingency of Templars was coming to the city as pilgrims to pay respects to the regent.

With Templars came Assassins and before Malik knew it he seemed to be getting a pigeon daily from the Master about a brother being sent to Jerusalem to take out a hit as well as orders for Malik to deal with several lower ranked, and less important nobles or people of note with the Assassins under his command in the city.

One day he got a pigeon later in the day. He knew it was later in the day because when he went to feed the birds there was one he didn’t recognize. He took the message from it’s leg and paled at what he read.

Sawsan padded into the coop, meowing, looking for breakfast. Malik looked down at her wide eyed. She meowed again. “Well,” he said, mouth dry, and was surprised by a thickness stuck in his throat, “You’re father’s coming to visit Sawsan,” he wondered why his voice was shaking.


	5. Blood Lily

The days were cold now. Winter was in full effect and while it could still become warm during the day even then it was cooler than normal, with winter storms dumping the occasional rain, and once they’d had snow. Malik had had to shut Sawsan in the bureau for a day or two after that before it had all melted away. She’d sulked for a week after that and refused to eat out of his hand. She’d since come around when he fed her fish. She always forgave when food was given to her.

Malik wished his other problem was as easy to fix as that.

The Master’s pigeon had done nothing good for Malik’s already slightly battered psyche. He’d been hoping that Altair would have other business in other cities. Really he was. He didn’t want to see Altair again, ever. He knew it was a petty, selfish desire, but he didn’t know if he could ever look upon the other man and not think about what he’d done.

Thinking about it made Malik squeeze his eyes shut miserably and he had to work to banish the thought. He was with terms with it, mostly, but that didn’t mean he liked it. In fact most nights it kept him up. He’d stopped sleeping as regularly knowing he’d have to face Altair again, wether he wanted to or not. It didn’t help either that sometimes Sawsan would just _look_ at him with just this look of reproach and judgment that he couldn’t even swallow his guilt. He had locked her in a drawer during it after all (and he did so several times after when he didn’t want her underfoot).

He opened his eyes again and stared blankly down at his map. A large ink blot was beginning to grow over a recreation of Damascus for a trader who needed it. Malik just blinked blankly at it, unable to even be irritated by himself for doing that. His head shot up (as it had been doing as of late) when he heard someone drop into the garden. Every noise in the garden he swore was Altair after he received the pigeon, even if his rational mind told him that he would be weeks yet behind the bird. But that… shit, that had been weeks ago. Malik’s eyes darted to movement in the garden as Sawsan unfolded herself from her lily covered pillows and padded over to under the hole in the lattice where Malik couldn’t see.

Malik held vey, very, still as he waited for something to happen.

“Look how big you got, my little lily,” he heard the almost whisper soft voice come from the garden, it was only because he was listening that he even heard it. A strange, hyper physical, ache blossomed in Malik’s chest as if someone was digging a knife into his gut.

Altair had finally arrived.

Malik straitened as he heard boot-falls and as soon as Altair entered the bureau Malik knew he couldn’t even look at him. He thought he’d be able to, he thought he’d be able to handle it. But as soon as he caught sight of Altair’s robes and his blankly turned face he had to look away, because he just _couldn’t_ look and instead looked strait over the other man’s shoulder. “Safety and peace, Altair,” Malik heard himself say.

Altair almost seemed to pause a moment, as if surprised, before he continued to the desk, “Upon you as well, brother,” he said it without malice or judgement or fear. Altair didn’t even seem afflicted to be in the presence of his rapist at all. Thinking the word made Malik wince internally. He’d been trying so hard to not give name to the word, to what he’d done.

Malik made himself focus on something else, the reason Altair was here; Robert de Sable, Grandmaster of the Templar order. “It seems fate is having fun with us. It will end where it started,” he said.

Altair’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, “So it’s true, Robert is in Jerusalem?”

“I’ve seen the knights myself,” Malik affirmed and tried to look at Altair’s face. His hood was up so he couldn’t see his eyes, but Malik felt woefully exposed without his own. Before he’d been ‘ _promoted_ ’ to Dai he’d lived as Altair had, under the safety of his hood, knowing that at least there he had privacy. When he’d first moved to Jerusalem he’d been reclusive and always kept his hood up. He’d just wanted to hide from the world and stew in his rage and the feeling of utter helplessness he felt at losing his left arm. One day a patron had caught him with it down and had told him they’d been afraid the stories of the angry, hooded, scribe with perfect penmanship were true. Malik had kept it down after that. But there were times like these where he wished he could hide behind the safety of it’s shadow and be guarded against letting everything show plainly arose his face.

“Only misfortune follows that man,” Altair growled, sudden heat in his voice like a barely contained rage. “If he’s here than it isn’t for any reason but to do harm. I will not give him that chance,” and Malik saw Sawsan, balanced on his shoulder, kneed her paws into the meaty area of where his chest met shoulder. Even with the tabby balanced on him Altair looked like he could easily rip something apart. The thought stuck and Malik swallowed. The fact that Altair was angry was almost curious. He never heard Altair actually angry, perhaps a few times when they’d been younger. But as a man? It was a foreign idea.

“Don’t let vengeance cloud your judgement Altair,” and Malik heard the double meaning to his own words, hoping that Altair did not want vengeance on him as well. “We both know nothing good comes of it,” he tried to look stern, knowing now even he was speaking of their last meeting with Robert in the Temple of Solomon where Altair’s brazen attitude had made them all lose so much.

“You have no need to worry about that, I am not here for vengeance,” Malik saw the lie, but it was a lie with some truth. “I am here for knowledge,” and that just _stunned_ Malik. What had happened in the time Altair had been gone?

All the Dais talked, in a way. They sent messages to each other from all over the Kingdom, sharing tales of their brothers with one another as well as boasting to not needing hits being taken out because their city was not as corrupt. The Dais had to talk, and Malik knew many of them rather well, even though he’d never actually met any. It had seemed though that where Altair went a flock of pigeons or even a messenger appeared at his bureau over night. Zaki, the Dai of Acre, only ever spoke well of Altair, though he had complained to them all that he was a bit stupid. Malik had grit his teeth when he read that. Faruq of Damascus sent his messages inside his clay jars. They all knew it was just an excuse for him to hand out his pottery (which he was very proud of) but his words were always as interesting as he speech. It was sometimes hard to pick out truths and lies when it came to Faruq and even through the general good natured insults he gave to everyone there were more than just a few nuggets of truth as well as praise. They both agreed Altair was a heavy handed novice who would learn a bit of subtly. Malik himself had sent some letters, the first time he met Altair again he’d had nothing good to say. The second time had been kinder, several of his fellows had noted upon it and Malik was still trying to tell Tamir of Arsuf to butt out of his business involving Altair (with very little success).

But there was obviously something missing here. Altair had learned something that Malik hadn’t read about, that perhaps Zaki and Faruq hadn’t even picked up on. It was a new revelation but perhaps, as Malik thought on it more, not particularly surprising. Altair was difficult, but he wasn’t stupid. But what sort of knowledge was Altair hoping to gain here?

Malik frowned slightly, “It seems you’re not the man I thought you were,” Malik had never heard such an understatement.

Altair tipped his head down just slightly, as if he was now looking at the ground. “My work had taught me many things,” he said and Malik’s eyes tracked Sawsan as she managed to walk across the back of Altair’s shoulders to his other shoulder and when she settled again she gave Malik a long look as if daring Malik to say anything. Malik wisely kept his mouth shut. “Revealed many secrets, but I’m still…” he paused and for a moment seemed to not wish to continue, his lips pressed together but saying nothing. “I’m still missing pieces of this puzzle.”

A puzzle? Secrets? “What do you mean?” he found he could keep ‘eye contact’ when he could focus on something else, like this strange secret that Altair was trying to solve.

For a moment he was sure Altair wasn’t going to answer, was just going to say it was nothing, or of no matter to Malik. Then he spoke. “All these men I’ve killed have worked together under Robert de Sable, but for what purpose or why or how I still don’t know,” and Altair frowned.

“So they are all-

“Templars,” Altair agreed and finished. “More than Crusaders they give allegiance not to King Richard but to Robert and some mad fairy tale idea they have about how they will bring about the end of the war.”

“You say such strange things Altair,” it was hard for him to grasp. The Templars had come across the sea, that some of their own would stray so far as to become Templars was maddening.

“It’s true,” Altair insisted and he felt the steel of Altair’s eyes even from under the shadow of his hood, as if he could will Malik to believe him, as though no one else could or would. He remembered Zaki’s initial remarks of Altair’s stupidity and Faruq’s casual insults. Perhaps Altair had tried to bring this to them as well, men who were supposed to be wiser than the others, scholars who handed out feathers when they felt the Assassin was ready and not before, but neither of them had listened. Neither of them knew Altair either, not like Malik did… had. They just saw a man with too many questions and not enough sense in his head to know the answer or to know to not ask them. Malik knew they were wrong, Altair could be very intelligent, it was just all in his head, and to put voice to it, in front of Malik. Malik felt humbled by his trust.

“I don’t doubt you,” Malik said and Altair looked a shade of relief. “I’m sure your journey was a long one, rest,” he insisted. Altair looked like he wanted to refuse and accept all at once and Malik did his best not to think about why he’d refuse. Eventually he just settled for a nod.

“Thank you for taking care of Sawsan,” he said, sincerely.

“Of course. I said I would,” Malik said almost too quickly. Altair bowed his head a little before leaving the bureau and walked out to the garden. Malik stayed where he was as he heard Altair removing some of his weapons and he heard the sound of pillows being fallen onto. Once it was quiet again Malik felt it was able to breath and looked down with a slight sigh. His map was still ruined but somehow couldn’t find himself to mind and he folded it up to be thrown away later.

He bustled around behind the counter trying to find himself something to do. Something mindless… no, something that would take all his concentration, so he couldn’t focus on anything but that. Maybe he should clean up, or deal with the back room and the mess he knew wasn’t there.

In the end though he did nothing of the sort. He kept hearing Altair out in the garden, his breath deep and even in sleep. Carefully Malik peered out into the garden like he was a novice trying to sneak into the back gardens of Masyaf where novices were forbidden. Altair was draped across several pillows, his hood up, half leaning against the wall, in full view of the sun. Sawsan was curled up in his lap, head on his thigh and in the silence Malik could hear her purring. Malik frowned. Sawsan never purred for him and damnit he raised her!

Slowly, quietly, Malik stepped into the garden and out under the wane winter sun. He carefully walked over to where Altair sat and stood above him, watching the even rise and fall of his chest and how peaceful his slack face appeared in sleep. He didn’t look disturbed and he felt comfortable enough to simply drop his guard Malik.

Malik wondered what had gone on in that head of his. They both knew Altair hadn’t been an active, consenting, party the last time they saw each other other. Yet still Altair trusted Malik enough to show his weaker side to him. Maybe he knew Malik’s own conscious had punished him enough for it. Malik wished at the same time that Altair would say something, would want Malik to hurt, yet at the same time he feared it, because he knew Altair’s temper, knew his wrath. It was terrifying, and only ever seen by their enemy. He shook his head; no, he didn’t want Altair to punish him, for there was no punishment enough for it. Malik looked at his own missing left arm, maybe this was his punishment, or perhaps it was the other way. He rubbed his face, this would get him absolutely nowhere. He should just move away, and move on, since it seemed Altair had done so.

He turned away from Altair and his sleeping cat and went into the back, counting what he had and then heading out to the market. He couldn’t stay in a place he could hear Altair breathing so easily, it made him want to do things he’d regret.

—

Altair was in and out of the bureau often over the next few days. Malik woke the first morning too see Altair had filched one of his dishes and was feeding Sawsan her breakfast and once he seemed satisfied he’d left up through the lattice.

“And what did Altair give you?” Malik asked that first morning, Sawsan had just looked at him smugly a moment and gone back to eating. Malik had been curious. It was liver.

Fucking cat.

As the days progressed Jerusalem’s population just continued to grow as people from all over the Kingdom came to the Regent’s funeral. With them came the Templars and crusaders and nobles and merchants and artisans and commoners and beggars and thieves and cut throats and bashers and whores and people of all faiths. But of them all, the ones Malik found most important to arrive were those who had been arriving steadily before the crowds had even arrived; Assassins. Even when Altair didn’t return for the day Malik always had one or two brothers return to the bureau for the night, full of hunting energy. Unlike Altair they always slept in the back, out of the cold.

Malik was working when Sawsan suddenly jumped onto his desk, startling him to the point he dropped his quill. A hauty chuckle came from the garden and Malik’s head twisted quickly to see Altair walk through the doorway, his stride was cocky, confidence radiating from every pore and line of his body and hung in the air like electricity.

“I sense you were successful with your mission Altair,” Malik said.

“Indeed,” Altair leaned his hip against the counter without fear and caught the end of Sawsan’s white-tipped tail between his fingers. She turned instantly and pounced upon his hand, rolling onto her back for belly rubs. That was another thing that had changed since Altair had returned. He’d never seen Sawsan so affectionate, but she was with or on Altair every moment that he was in the bureau and vanished for long periods of time, and Malik imagined that she followed Altair around the city.

“Well don’t leave me in anticipation Altair, tell me what you learned,” Malik said almost sternly. Altair’s lips twitched, almost flashing into a smile. Malik felt his stomach turn over and he stamped down any other thoughts and focused on what Altair had to tell him.

“In two days time is Majd Addin’s funeral,” he said rubbing the pale and patchworked fur of Sawsan’s underbelly. “Robert plans to attend, along with several other targets that our brothers were sent here to take out,” and Malik saw his eyes, in the shadow of his hood, glance up at him from his cat and Malik couldn’t make himself look away. Something crawled around in his gut, taunting him, since Altair’s eyes were that daring he’d seen only once, a sort of taunt at what was going on in Malik’s head. “I’ve been speaking with our brothers,” Altair said, holding Malik’s gaze, “they agree that if we could strike together we would kill many birds with one stone.”

Malik had to struggle a moment to find his voice. It was like staring into the eyes of a snake, or an eagle, hypnotizing and captivating. Altair blinked and Malik’s eyes darted away, briefly looking over Sawsan who was now sitting on the desk, head tipped back as Altair gingerly scratched under her chin. “And what sort of plan did you come up with?” he asked once he could lift his eyes back up and while he didn’t look into Altair’s eyes he kept them up and trained on his chin.

“We’ll attend the funeral, and during the service we’ll strike,” he said and Malik found his eyes drawn a few inches to the left to the distinctive scar on Altair’s lips. It had been a deep cut when it’d happened and even fully healed as it was now the scar made his lips split into prongs as he spoke and Malik found himself staring at Altair’s mouth totally without his consent.

“The others are agreed to this?” Malik asked. Altair nodded. “Tell them to come speak with me, I need to know who will be attending this funeral.” Altair nodded again. “Do you have anything else you wish to say Altair?” he asked as he saw Altair hesitate in stepping away.

“That is not all,” he agreed.

“What else than?”

“I have walked amid the people, they speak of the templars and crusaders that fill their streets. Some call for their blood, others say they are friends,” he said slowly, as though he was putting the information together even as he spoke and Malik’s eyes continued to linger on Altair’s mouth for a moment more before they searched for his eyes. He found them, shadowed, and guarded. “They say they’re here to make peace.”

Malik scoffed, “Peace. You can’t really believe that rabble,” Malik made a vague motion that even wasn’t sure what it meant.

“The other men I’ve slain have said much the same. They do not wish for war, but peace.”

Malik felt his brows arch up into his hairline, “That would make them our allies…”

“No,” Altair quickly cut in, “ _We_ are nothing like them. They wish for the same goal, but do not go about it in a means that is… well, it isn’t right. They wish to enslave, while we mean to free. Or so the Master has told me,” he seemed wary of his own words, as though there was so much else going on inside his head and he didn’t even know how to properly put them to words. Malik felt sorry for the other man.

“Altair,” he drew Altair’s eyes to him, “You can tell me, I’ll believe you,” he said.

Altair stared at him for a long moment then looked away, conflicted. He licked his lips nervously before saying, “You’d think I was mad. I think the idea itself is mad,” he admitted.

“What idea is that?” Malik used a gentle tone, one he used to use to get Altair to agree to writing thing down for him.

Altair lifted his head just slightly and met Malik’s eyes, they were confused, and while Malik could still see the confidence in him from his earlier success he knew that Altair admitting this wouldn’t be something he did easily. He said the idea was mad and Malik knew Altair thought he wouldn’t believe him when he told Malik whatever it was. Altair opened his mouth.

“Dai!” they both turned at someone’s shout and an instantly later came the clatter from someone dropping down onto the garden. “Dai Malik!”

“What is it? Stop yelling, you’ll tell all the guards we’re here you incompetent fool!” Malik lashed out as an assassin scrambled into the bureau, face streaked with sweat and panting. Damn this man, he’d interrupted and when he glanced back at Altair he saw he’d sunk back into the cocky, slightly full of himself, facade.

“It’s Rabar,” the assassin said quickly, almost panicked.

Malik moved out from behind his desk and grabbed the man by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong,” he said sternly.

The assassin’s eyes flashed with panic, but then he made himself calm as he glanced from Malik, to Altair, and then back to Malik. Yes. Don’t look like a floundering novice in front of the great Altair.  For once he was glad of Altair’s high and mighty status. “Some guards were bullying a monk, Rabar stepped in to stop them. It turned bad, I heard them from the street over and went to investigate, Templars were there Dai Malik. We ran instead of staying to be killed. Rabar’s hurt though, badly.”

“Where is he?” he asked the assassin.

“I left him in a rooftop box while I came here. He’s too weak to walk on his own.”

Malik frowned, “Altair,” he turned to the other man, Altair was alert to his words, “Go with our brother-

“Jalil,” he supplied quickly.

“Jalil and retrieve Rabar, bring him back here,” he turned back to Jalil, “You weren’t followed were you?” Jalil shook his head. “Good, both of you, be off, if I’m to help our brother haste is off the utmost essence,” and he released Jalil.

Altair walked past the both of them, exuding an air of calm, confidence. It seemed to ease Jalil’s fears and panic and Malik watched the two assassins scale the wall above the fountain and vanish over the lip of the roof. Malik turned to go back into the back to prepare for Rabar’s arrival and saw Sawsan sitting on his desk, prim as could be, her tail swishing back and forth, a look that could only be described as smug etched across her face. Malik scowled at the brown and orange tabby and stomped into the back.

—

In two days time seven assassins had come to Malik saying that Altair’s plan was indeed true, they would all strike at the same time and cause a panic amid the spectators which would allow brothers with more difficult targets (like Altair) to get close to who they would kill. Malik gave them all feathers before they left and wished them safe journey. The back room was closed to other assassins and none came to sleep in the garden. Rabar was in the back suffering from a broken leg and a stab wound, and another brother, a journeyman had been caught by guards and they’d broken almost every bone in his hand before being rescued. They were not to be disturbed, so no on was allowed to sleep in the bureau. Malik didn’t care if some complained, they could all find somewhere else to sleep.

The day of the funeral Malik had handed out seven feathers, but he had an eighth to give. It was for Altair. After he’d brought back Rabar he and Jalil had left again. Malik had heard rumor from his informants that Altair had gone back to where Rabar had been cornered. Apparently he found a dead monk and some guards and one or two Templars speaking it over, trying to cover their trace so that no one would know they’d killed a holy man. Apparently, and this was still just rumor Malik had heard, Altair had slain them all on the spot and turned that part of the street into a blood bath. Malik could imagine it. Even when he’d been so full of himself Altair had always had a soft spot for those who couldn’t defend themselves. He’d once seen Altair beat a boy from the village below Masyaf into a black and blue mess for hitting his younger sister because they’d had no father. Altair had had stable duty for a month after that and the Order had had to pay for the boy to go to a doctor. Altair had, however, refused to apologize.

He hadn’t returned to the bureau however. Perhaps he was edgy over the massacre, which was strange, since Altair never felt remorse for those he killed. It’s what made him effective, and also more than a bit terrifying. Malik had been on a mission with him once, before the Master started assigning Altair solo missions almost exclusively. It had probably been for the best since Altair had trouble telling friend from foe when he got deep in his fighting trance. Malik himself had almost been hacked by Altair’s dancing blade before they’d finally managed to get to their target. For that he had a great respect for Altair’s sword style and how well he could handle a blade though he did better against groups of enemies than in a duel, which was why Malik had been able to best him from time to time, and why the sword masters who taught the novices could always put him on his back.

Altair wasn’t the only one who’d gone missing. Sawsan had made herself scarce as well, only returning to be fed at night before Malik closed and locked the lattice for the night and curled up on her lily covered pillow to sleep for the night.

The day of the funeral Malik was coming out of the back, deciding to forgo breakfast, he hadn’t the stomach for it, and heard soft tones coming from the garden. He became more alert instantly and looked into it to see Altair. His robes were stained brown at the edges with dried blood and he was at the fountain, hood down, splashing water across his face and stubbled scalp. Next to him Sawsan balanced on the lip of the fountain, purring away cheerfully and even let Altair, with a dripping hand, stroke once along her back.

“Altair,” Malik spoke up before he could continued to be distracted, because Altair was… a distraction. Damnit, he told himself he wasn’t going to do this.

Altair straitened and turned his head around slowly, face and head dripping. He blew a mist of water off his lips, “Hello Malik,” he said simply.

“You certainly took your time in getting here,” Malik said frowning.

“The funeral is for late morning, I figured I had time,” his face into a familiar, cocky, irritating, smirk that was all too familiar to Malik.

“You break into the bureau, covered in blood, and use my fountain,” Malik frowned, “You truly have no decency,” though they both knew Malik wasn’t really mad. Truthfully he’d been worried Altair wouldn’t show his face.

“Ah,” he looked down at himself as if he’d only just noticed the dried blood for the first time, “It isn’t mine,” he said, almost sheepish, more smug or teasing. Damnit. “May I borrow another robe?”

Malik rolled his eyes at him, “As if I would allow you to shame our Order by letting you go till Robert looking like a mad man,” he huffed and Altair’s eyes danced. How could he be so… calm, so fully at ease? It was almost as terrifying as watching Altair zone into a fight. Did he just… not care? The thought left Malik cold. Altair’s grin was brittle and Malik turned away to not think on it and went into the back where Rabar and Ayser were. Both were deep asleep still. Malik kept them both heavily drugged and sedated so that their hurts wouldn’t pain them.

He went to a chest in the back where spare uniforms were kept and he fished one out. All bureaus were required to have spare uniforms on hand in the case that an Assassin’s became soiled or ruined. Malik had only a few robes for Masters though, seeing as how they were less likely to ruin their robes in the first place. Unlike the ones for novices and journeymen. He gave a little huff and went back out to the garden. Altair had Sawsan on his shoulder, her front paws on the meaty part of his upper chest and she was rubbing the side of her face against Altair’s head. He seemed amused.

“Here you are Altair,” Malik presented Altair with the garments, “Don’t ruin these, it isn’t like I just have them lying around.”

“I will keep that in mind,” and Altair quickly took them, hands in all the places Malik’s weren’t. No, Malik supposed they wouldn’t be. He picked Sawsan off his shoulder and put her on the ground and before Malik could say another word he was up and over the wall of the garden and outside. Malik felt something hard and small tighten in his chest and he tried to tell himself he wasn’t surprised. Perhaps he’d judged too far in Altair’s apparent trust in him, or in his lack of care over what had happened. Obviously he felt something, it wasn’t as though as novices they hadn’t seem each other change, they’d had swimming lessons together as well. But now it was different.

“Shit,” he muttered and turned away from the lattice, going back into the bureau. Sawsan padded along behind him and hopped up onto the desk, continuing to follow him. “What?” he demanded quietly, as if she could answer. She just blinked her big, amber eyes at him. Malik rubbed his face. Why did she have to have Altair’s eyes? She was just a cat, she wasn’t a person or even sentient for crying out loud! She was an animal. Yet… yeap, there she went. That same piercing stare she gave him all the time that seemed to see right through him, and held him in place. Shit, it was just like Altair’s. How could a cat and a man be so alike? He didn’t know, he didn’t want to. Half of him just wanted the both of them to go away.

He looked up and over when he heard a scuff on the tiled floor of the garden, Sawsan followed his gaze, ears pitching forward to catch every new noise, and a moment later Altair walked in, soiled uniform folded neatly in his arms. Malik motioned and he set it down on the end of the counter, Malik would wash it later, that or get a novice to do it. “You’ll need this,” Malik said, reaching into a drawer under his desk and pulling out a long pigeon primary. He set it on the desk and Altair swiped it up.

“The next time you see it it will be bathed in Robert’s blood,” Altair said firmly.

Malik felt his lips quirk slightly in a grin. He would love nothing more than to see Robert’s death. The man had wrought so much misery in Malik’s life, taking from him his arm, his brother, and severing the last remaining thread to a man that had once been his rival and brother. “May fortune favor your blade Altair,” he said.

Altair nodded minutely and took a step back. He turned, took another step and then stopped. “Malik, before I go— there’s something I need to say,” he said, having turned around to face him.

Malik’s heart jumped right up into his throat. “Well then, out with it,” he said firmly, not letting his voice waver, refusing it.

“I’ve… been a fool,” Altair said gravely.

Malik almost barked a laugh with relief, “Normally I would agree,” because he would, but he could sense there was more, “But what are you on about?”

Altair’s mouth worked, but they neither opened nor made sound. Then, as though forcing the words out of his mouth he said, “I never told you…” Malik’s heart was back up in his throat, “I’m sorry. Because of me you lost your arm and,” he broke off here, seeming to steel himself before saying, “and because of my arrogance Kadar is dead. For that, I am sorry and you had every right to be angry with me.”

Malik felt like someone had just ripped the rug out from under him. Altair was _apologizing_ to _him_. Him of all people! Another sick thought came to him, that their last meeting had happened out of anger. The thought was terrible. Everything about this situation was so wrong, Malik should be apologizing, not Altair. Malik knew Kadar’s death wasn’t Altair’s fault, not really. He’d played a role, but so had Malik and so had Kadar himself. Altair hadn’t delivered the killing blow, a Templar had. No. This was all wrong. He couldn’t let this lie.

“I don’t accept your apology,” and he saw the slight shift in Altair’s face.

“I understand,” he said, withdrawn and Malik had a horrible feeling he had to say something to try to fix it.

“No, you don’t,” Malik said, pushing forward. “I do not accept your apology because neither you, nor I are the men we were at Solomon’s Temple. You have nothing to apologize for Altair, no more than I myself do.”

“Malik—

“What happened to Kadar wasn’t your fault,” he had to tell Altair this, he _had_ to or he was sure he’d suffocate. Even speaking of it hurt though, like someone was pouring salt into a wound. But Malik knew that before something could heal it had to hurt and that salt water, even salt itself, helped the healing process. “If I was not so envious of you,” he almost bit his tongue, refrained, but his own stubbornness wouldn’t let him stop. “I… could have been less careless myself. If it is your fault than it is mine as well.”

“Don’t say such things, Malik,” Altair said softly.

“No,” Malik pushed. “We are one, we share the glory of our victories, so shouldn’t we also share the pain of our defeat? That is what makes us brothers Altair, not the Creed, not the Order, that is what brings us together and makes us stronger for it,” and Malik felt his heart as a hammer in his throat and chest like it was about to burst right out of his ribs.

Altair looked down, then back up, and Malik was once again caught in his eyes. He was tense, he had been for some time, but then he suddenly relaxed, his shoulders loosening. “Thank you, brother,” he said, voice low, and bowed his head. Malik felt like he’d just scaled the great Cathedral in Acre in record time.

“Your target waits for you Altair. May your blade be sharp,” Malik said.

“Always,” Altair said and that was all that was needed to be said. He turned and seconds later was out of the garden.

Once he was gone Malik practically fell against the desk. His entire body trembled and his hand shook horribly. After a few seconds he gave up trying to remain vertical and sat down on the cool stone of his bureau. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to calm his furiously beating heart. He felt exhausted, just emotionally drained from what had just happened, and it was barely mid morning.

Malik looked up when he heard the padded drop of a cat. Sawsan stood next to him, tail tall above her, all the long, lean lines of her small form was pleased. He watched as she picked her way over to Malik and draped herself in his lap. Slowly he reached down and pet her.

Sawsan began to purr.


	6. Water Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are ready for some more feels. Cause there are a bunch in this chapter!

The bells were expected. They’d been going off for over an hour and Malik had just quietly closed his shop and waited. Malik had never been very patient when it came to these things and he made himself busy. There were other Assassins at the funeral other than Altair, any one of them could have caused the bells to begin tolling. Sawsan lay in his lap contently, head on his thigh, tail twisting back and forth, not purring, but looking happier with him than he’d ever seen.

Malik had since relocated himself to the garden after closing his shop and the lattice when the bells had started, and that had only been after he’d made himself get up from behind his desk after Altair left. 

He had a book balanced on his thigh but wasn’t really reading it, his fingers lazily drifting through Sawsan’s patchwork of fur. He couldn’t focus on the words on the page, it would have been stupid to think he could. No, all he could think about was Altair and the last thing they’d said to one another.

Altair’s apology, a thing he was sure he’d never thought he’d hear from Altair, was a heavy thing in his gut. He wished Altair had never spoken those words since they made his guilt more apparent, as he was too… afraid to apologize for his own sins. He’d been right, Kadar’s death was both their faults, they shared that defeat and that loss and that grief. He’d never wanted to admit to himself that Altair had felt grief for Kadar’s death because he felt Altair hadn’t deserved to feel such things about his brother. But Altair had grieved and felt guilt and loss and pain and had suffered Malik’s own grief and wrath. But where Altair could apologize for something he thought was wrong, Malik could not do the same. It wasn’t that he was too proud, or couldn’t admit he was wrong, but Altair seemed content on pretending it had ever happened. Perhaps he’d blocked it out, he hadn’t brought it up and in fact hadn’t even seemed upset. Malik was afraid to bring it up because he knew what he’d done was wrong and unforgivable. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven either.

Sawsan shifted in his lap and looked up at the lattice, Malik froze and a moment later one of his informants appeared. “Dai, open the grate,” he said, sounding breathless.

Malik lurched to his feet, upsetting Sawsan and with a single, easy, motion unlocked and opened the lattice door. The informant dropped in and he closed it again with a quick snap. “What is it?”

“I just came from the funeral,” he said, out of breath, but not panting.

“And?”

“Our brothers did as they were supposed to, and there are now seven less evil men in the world,” he said, almost cheerfully.

“This is good news,” Malik nodded knowing that the Assassins would start trickling in once the bells stopped ringing. “Wait… you said seven men, who is left?” though he had a feeling he knew exactly who it was.

“Altair,” the informant was frowning, “He’s still fighting Robert as far as I know.”

“ _Still_?” that was terrifying.

“Yes, he attacked and then Robert ran out into the city after the crowd turned to chaos.”

“Dai Malik,” another voice came up and both Malik and the informant looked up, another informant had arrived. Malik opened the lattice, but before he could close it an Assassin also slipped in.

“You first,” Malik pointed at the Assassin.

“It is done,” the man pulled out a bloodied feather, “Mukhtar al-Humd is no longer with us,” he seemed pleased with himself.

“Good,” Malik nodded, “Wait in the bureau while I deal with these two,” he nodded to the informants and the Assassin slipped into the shade of the building. “And now you, speak,” he ordered firmly of the new informant.

“The streets are chaos,” he said rapidly, speaking so fast his tongue couldn’t seem to keep up. “I came from the edge of the rich district, because I heard people yelling, screaming, and went to investigate,” Malik felt the hair on the back of his neck and along his arms stand up on end. “I had to climb onto the second story to see, because there were guards everywhere and they’re looking for us,” Malik didn’t doubt that. “I saw none of our brothers going, but I assume they were safe but… I did see one.”

“Out with it already,” Malik snapped.

“It was Master Altair, Dai,” the informant said. “He was fighting an army of guards, leading them through the city like they were dogs on his heels,” Malik felt himself pale just slightly.

“And?”

“And?” the informant asked right back.

“Is he dead?”

“No Dai,” they shook their head. “He was leaving a trail of bodies behind him, as far as I could see, he didn’t even look hurt.”

That settled Malik a bit, “And Robert?”

“No idea, I assume he’s dead, for I didn’t see him.”

“Good,” Malik nodded and forced his heart to settle down. He couldn’t worry himself over Altair, he couldn’t, he had to deal with the rest of the men. “Anything else to report?” he asked, the two informants traded a look before shaking their heads. “Than be gone,” and he opened the lattice. The two men scrambled through and took off in opposite directions. Once they were gone Malik turned back to the bureau where the Assassin was waiting for him.

—

The bells had stopped now and Malik’s bureau was full. Over the course of several hours the Assassins had been trickling into the bureau till all seven had arrived. Some were injured and Malik was tending to them, but they knew better than to leave, as the guards were still on high alert and one had reported to seeing a guard kill someone in white simply because they thought they were Assassins. They ranged around in the garden and bureau, talking lowly after Malik had had to yell at them for being a rowdy bunch of novices.

Everyone tensed when they heard the lattice be kicked open, for Malik had left it unlocked, but closed. Malik was behind his desk and he heard the men in the garden scramble to their feet, though none drew their blades though Malik could see the one against the near fountain following someone walk towards him. In front of him Sawsan jumped elegantly onto the counter and began to purr and Malik had no doubt who it was. As if he had any doubts before, because who else would treat his bureau as such and cause the Assassins in the garden to fall into silence?

Malik blanched when Altair finally walked into the bureau. The man was covered in blood, and his hood was askew so that his amber eyes seemed to blaze from the shade. Malik felt vulnerable being stared at like that and Altair’s head twisted to take in the rest of the bureau and the silent Assassins. Altair’s white robes were more red than white and while Malik could see where the fabric had been cut, he didn’t look injured. The man’s entire body radiated fury and anger and violence and Malik felt his throat dry taking in Altair’s form. He’d seen Altair like this before, as he came down from battle lust but would be ready to kill anything at a single notice.

“It was a trap,” he spat, his eyes going back to Malik. “Robert wasn’t there, he sent another in his stead. No doubt expecting us,” he looked around at the others again and now Malik understood Altair’s rage. Robert was the cause of their misery, and to not be able to kill him was like salt in the wound. He felt cheated, no wonder he was so covered in blood. Malik could see the others were wary of the blood covered Assassin who looked more like a demon than one of their brothers.

“What happened Altair,” and Altair zeroed in on Malik when he spoke and Malik felt the full weight of Altair’s amber eyes. A lesser man would have buckled, would have shut up and turned away. Malik was not one of those men however and stared right back, just as demanding as Altair himself was.

“Robert left a dummy in his stead, we fought, I won and she told me his plans, what he hopes to accomplish with this charade. He aims to plead a case to King Richard and Saladin to unite us against a common enemy… us.”

“That’s madness!” one of the Assassins said.

“Why would _they_ fight us?” another said, they’d formed a semi circle around Altair, though at a respectful distance that was out of his sword range. They all had a healthy respect for Altair’s ability with the sword.

“Did you say ‘she’?” Malik asked and Altair looked back to him after staring down the two had spoken, cowing them into subservience by the force of his gaze.

“Yes,” Altair said.

Malik frowned, “But why would Robert try to turn them upon us? They would never—

“They would,” Altair butted in, “and we have no one but ourselves to blame. The men I’ve killed and perhaps the men you all have killed,” he indicated the Assassins around him, “were men on both sides of the conflict and important to both leaders. Did we not just return from the funeral of the former Regent?” he challenged. No one spoke, they did not deny him this and in fact he was sure few even dared to speak, for Malik knew most had never heard Altair say so much. Like Malik they were drawn into his conspiracy. “Robert is ambitious, but he is no fool. He could turn them against us and if he does, we are lost,” Altair was frowning.

Malik frowned with him, “So that may be, but we cannot move without orders from Al Mualim,” he reminded the bloodied Assassin.

“If I wait, all could be lost,” Altair said, almost pleading. “Robert rides to Arsuf even as we speak and every moment we remain gives him time to further taint the minds of King Richard and Saladin.”

“You would risk compromising the Brotherhood for this hunch, Altair? You cannot rush blindly into a fight, I thought you had learned this—

“Do not preach to me Malik,” Altair snapped viciously and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Sawsan start to puff up and the other Assassins seemed wary now, unsure of what would happen and perhaps afraid it would come to blows. “Stop hiding behind words and using the Creed as though it is a shield. The Master is keeping things from us, important things! This is not a blind rush, this is a counter strike. You’re the one who once told me I could never know something, I could only ever suspect. Well _I_ suspect that the business with the Templars goes deeper, even infecting Al Mualim.”

“Be careful Altair, you speak treason in a den of blades,” Malik spoke lowly, advising caution as the other Assassin’s bristled, he did not want blood shed, for he knew the outcome where the others did not. If they attacked Altair here the only one walking away would be Altair, and none of their brothers.

Altair looked each Assassin in the eye, suddenly seeming ten feet tall, “I speak truth, and you all know it. For have you not seen how the Master covets his power. How he plays with lives and stares into that golden ball on his desk. He keeps to it as though it is more than just a treasure, for if it was just so than it would be in the vault with the rest of our spoils,” and that’s when Malik saw them wavering. “You all suspect, but are too afraid to act,” it was amazing the effect Altair was having on them, how they went from hostile one moment to complacent the next, seduced by his tale and voice in a way they never thought they would be, never thought that Altair, the silent killer of Al Mualim’s, could ever achieve. “Tell me I lie,” he challenged.

No one spoke. Not even Malik.

“So what do you plan to do Altair?” Malik asked after a silence.

“I will ride to Arsuf and finish my mission, rid the world of this blight that is Robert de Sable. Then I will return to Masyaf and demand answers from the old man,” that struck a cord with Malik. After Altair’s father had died the Master had seemed to take Altair under his wing. It had been that that had started Altair’s road to the man he was now; stoic and hard as a sword, yet somehow brittle if you struck him just so. Altair had once looked up to their Master almost like a father, to hear Altair call him _old man_ was like a blow to the chest. “Or perhaps,” he glanced around at his fellows from under his hood, it was just a moment of the eyes that everyone felt like the passing shadow of a hawk, “you could go now,” but he spoke to Malik because he knew Malik would listen, knew Malik would believe him. Hadn’t Malik said that very thing? That he believed Altair despite what he might have said was mad?

“I cannot leave the city, and neither are they,” he looked at the other seven gathered, none of them told him otherwise. Usually unless the Dai said Assassins stayed in the cities until called, and with so many Templars and crusaders and soldiers around the movement of such a large group of Assassins would be notices, especially since these were not all the men in the city.

Altair wasn’t pleased by his answer, he thought Malik didn’t believe him, and really Malik was a skeptic, he wasn’t sure he believed Altair’s mad conspiracy. Altair knew that too. “Then walk amid it’s people. You call yourself perceptive Malik, perhaps you will find something I overlooked,” he said, almost gravely. Here was more behind his words but Malik wasn’t quite sure what.

Malik felt the other Assassins watching him, waiting for his decision and he knew that whatever he said they would do. They were just as curious. The ideas Altair had sewn were obviously ones each of them had once had before and he was shining a light upon them and making them question further. “I make you no promises Altair,” he said at last.

Altair bowed his head slightly, as if resigning himself, “Do as you must,” he said lowly, then lifted his head again. “But it’s time I ride to Arsuf to finish this. Every moment I delay our enemy gets another step ahead of us,” and there was no way Malik could stop him, which was the worst. The others he could detain, because their missions were over and they had to listen to him. But Altair’s was not yet over, Robert still drew breath and until Altair’s blade had tasted the Frenchman’s blood he would hunt him across the continent if he had to. Malik had seen that once, a man, not a Templar, had earned the ire of the Brotherhood and the Master had sent one of his best to see to his death. It had taken the Assassin two years to finally kill him and he’d traveled to Africa to see that the deed was done and even to Europa. He’d returned after everyone thought him dead and had brought back both his feather and the man’s teeth as proof of his kill. He was awe inspiring to all Assassins and was the example that stood above all others that everyone could hope to match with their own skill and determination. Malik had no doubt that Altair would hunt Robert down to the ends of the earth now that he was on the scent and would not rest until the man was dead, for both the glory of his success, but also the pleasure in knowing a man he loathed was finally dead and the Templars crippled.

“Wait a moment Altair,” Malik said before the man could leave, he sent a quick look around their brothers, very clearly saying ‘do not let him leave’, and went into the back. He kicked open the chest of uniforms and saw to his disdain that it was empty. Novices! All of them! Then he remembered, he had another. He quickly went to his personal area and pulled a box out from under a desk he never used and picked out the robes. Malik tucked them under his arm and returned to the front. “Do not shame our Order by meeting Robert in those rags,” and he put the uniform on the counter. Sawsan slinked over to him and arched herself against his arm, tail down, but twitching.

Altair looked at him, than at the robes, than back at him. All Master Assassins had a subtle pattern worked into their personal uniforms around the hems. Altair’s was an endless geometric design stitched along the hem of his tunic’s sleeves. Malik had a similar design on his sleeves from when he’d been one of them, only instead of an endless pattern it was interlocking circles. The uniform Malik had presented Altair with possessed those engaged circles. All Masters knew each other’s symbols and Malik knew Altair understood what he was receiving. The look on his face was both crushing and breathtaking at once and Malik had to remind himself how to breath. He picked them up, with more than a little reverence.

“Thank you,” he said, Malik knew, just by the way he spoke, that he wouldn’t put them on until he reached Arsuf and that the ones he wore now would be for the journey. He’d wear the ones Malik had given him when he fought Robert.

Malik felt like his chest was about to burst and an insane idea came to Malik that he wanted to grab Altair by the front of his bloodied robes, pull him forward and kiss him. “Be careful, brother,” Malik said instead, his hand balling into a fist so hard it trembled.

“I will, I promise,” and then he turned away. The Assassins behind him parted and he left, slipping right past them and they heard him scurry up the wall and the lattice was closed with a light snap. Sawsan had dropped onto the counter, laying in front of Malik, looking ever so pleased with herself.

Malik looked at each of his brothers who remained, they met his gaze silently. “Any who are not with our brother may leave now, and I do not wish to see your face in this city until this matter has been dealt with,” he said firmly, looking them in the eye to ensure they understood. If they stayed, they were committed and would see this through to the end.

Not one of them moved.

—

The stories of what had happened at the funeral were numerous and every crier seemed to have another to tell. Most of them spoke of the Assassins who had melted from the crowd like ghosts and before anyone knew what had happened, men were dead. And then there were the wild stories of Altair’s battle. Malik quickly picked out the truth from the lies but even the truths seemed almost too far fetched and fanciful to be true.

The tales were surprisingly, not as exaggerated as Malik had hoped. Altair was a monster when he wanted to be. He was trained for it, and Malik knew that he could be ruthless and vicious and so cold it was like trying to destroy a huge block of ice. Nothing about Altair during a fight was beautiful; instead it was usually terrifying.

Altair could dance with a sword, but he could do more than dance as well. He could butcher and maim and destroy and he did so with such cruel, deadly efficiency that not even the wildest stories were much exaggerated from the truth. The stories told in the streets were that of a white demon who slew anything in it’s path had butchered entire squads of guards and had taken on an army single handedly. They said that after a time the guards had just stopped chasing him, because their swords couldn’t touch him and they were being cut down so furiously that most simply just fled. Then apparently the demon had fled, but not for long before reappearing like a wraith, body covered in blood. None of the guards had stopped him as he flew out of the city and mounted a horse that snorted fire and—

Okay they might have gotten a little ridiculous.

The point was that other than the talk of white demons (which his brothers were playing up to great efficiency) and the hell horse, the stories were shockingly true. Malik was surprised himself. And if anything it made it easier for the other Assassins to move around. Guards wouldn’t go near them, and if they saw them they just turned the other way. Normal folk just pretended they didn’t see what they saw and tried to move without enticing the demon’s wrath.

But such talk only lasted a few days and soon the talk on the streets turned to other matters. He sent the seven Assassins from the funeral out to be his eyes and ears, for he did not trust any others to do so. If the Master was indeed corrupt (though he hoped it was not so) than he could not trust his normal sources, or even those minds of his brothers who had not heard Altair.  The seven took their duty with the upmost seriousness and where he said to go they flew and listened and learned. Much of their missions included simply spying, eavesdropping, listening to what people of importance or irrelevance had to say.

It was ironic, in a way, for this was exactly what Altair had been tasked to do time and time again on his mission to regain his rank. Normally informants reported to him their findings and he gave out information as was needed. In that way no one saw the larger picture. But often times the larger picture was barely bigger than the current predicament. In this way Malik would have missed much. Altair however had done his own leg work, he had heard everything that anyone had said. He’d heard the lies and the truths and pieced together the puzzle that Malik was finally starting to find clarity in.

What Altair had said was true. The men on Altair’s list had had correspondence with Robert, some were friends, some were simply tools to use. But all were Templars. Malik sent the seven Assassins to dig out the truth and as they brought him back each new nugget of information the horror of the conspiracy grew. But there was still something missing. While he kept hearing repeated names, many Altair had killed himself, there was something missing. Altair had been so sure Al Mualim was responsible for this mess, and that he was as corrupted as Robert himself.

Malik just couldn’t find the link between their Master and Robert.

It was three weeks when one of the Assassins came into his bureau. They came and went with the wind, though somehow they all made it back when it was dark. Malik had since cleared the rest of the Assassins sent during the funeral to leave and was expecting pigeons about their return to Masyaf any day now. But these seven stayed, Malik made sure they did not leave, nor did they want to. Like him they’d sunken their teeth into this conspiracy and this plot and planned to see it through to the bitter end, whatever that end may be. It was too early for the Assassin to be here for a night’s rest so Malik was curious as to why he was here.

“Safety and peace, Dai,” Jari bowed his head as he entered and pushed down his hood. His face was streaked with sweat and dust and he looked like he’d been through a sand storm.

“What is it, Jari?” Malik asked curiously.

Jari wiped his mouth, “I found something you may be interested in Dai,” he bobbed his head. Malik nodded for him to continue. “Several years ago, the imams at the Dome of the Rock were approached by a Christian man and asked if they would allow him to participate in their worship though he had no intention to join. He said he was a scholar and only wished to learn all he could, from all people, not just from people like himself.” Jari licked his lips, “Apparently he grew close to the imams and they made him privy to secrets about the Dome of the Rock. They told him the old story that it was built over the now lost Solomon’s Temple,” Malik felt the hair rise up along the back of his neck. 

“And?” Malik prompted.

“He said he found it,” Malik felt his blood run cold, and Jari looked wary.

“What was the name of this man?”

Jari bit his lip before reporting, “They said his name was Robert, they never learned of his surname, he said it wasn’t important.”

“Who told you this?”

“I heard a rumor in the Jewish district, I thought it was just that, a rumor. I went to talk with the imams, I have been for the past few days. I have even been a good Muslim and attended service,” he smirked a little, amused. Most Assassins were not devoutly religious and while they may pray to Allah they could move around a Jewish temple or Christian church with the same ease as they could an Islamic mosque. Predominantly they were Muslims, but Malik knew some of their brothers were Jews or Christians or worshiped the old gods. There was no stigma against it, but most at least made a charade to Islam. Malik himself couldn’t put a date to the last time he’d gone to a mosque.

“Did you investigate this claim of Solomon’s Temple?” Malik asked.

“I tried to get the imams to tell me of it. It seems that Robert the scholar left a foul taste in their mouths for when I mentioned it they closed up. I just returned from them expelling me from the mosque,” he frowned.

“That is unfortunate,” Malik said wearily.

“Do you believe it’s true?” Jari asked.

Malik blinked at him slowly, “My last mission as an Assassin was to Solomon’s Temple,” he said and felt like he was picking at a scab that had only just healed.

“Oh,” Jari now seemed awkward and uncomfortable. “Forgive me Dai, I didn’t know,” he bowed his head.

Malik waved him off, he could not dwell on it. It was in the past and he had to deal with both the present and future simultaneously. “I have nothing for you to do now Jari. Clean up, rest, the others will be here in a few hours.”

“What are we doing, Dai?” Jari asked.

“We’re going to Solomon’s Temple,” Malik said in a firm voice.

—

Malik had done everything in his power to not go near the part of the Temple where Kadar had died. Really he’d just shown the others where to go. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take seeing where his brother had died, he wasn’t _strong enough_ for that. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.

“Malik,” Ehan approached him slowly as he waited in the main shaft that led into the temple, the same one he, Altair, and Kadar had taken all those months ago. The dried out corpse of the old man Altair had killed was still there. Malik had seen then that the man was armed with a blade. He felt a twinge of guilt over that, for Altair had not killed an innocent as he’d believed at the time. Even during the massacre in Jerusalem no civilians had been harmed, at least not by him. Altair would never hurt an innocent, Malik knew that, had known that, and yet still he’d doubted the man.

“What?” Malik was anxious, he wanted this escapade to be over quickly and they could return to the streets and open air.

Ehan didn’t speak at first, “We found several bodies down there,” he said lowly, in an unoffensive tone, as though sure that Malik would react badly to what he would say. Ehan swallowed before saying, “What should we do with them?”

“Ignore them, they aren’t our concern,” Malik said sharply.

Ehan hesitated, “We found your brother’s body,” he said slowly.

Malik’s entire world narrowed to a tiny point and he felt himself rooted to the spot. Logically he knew that they would find him there. Malik hadn’t been able to take him from the temple when he’d left. He’d left Kadar’s body there and had had to run for his life as he’d run for his life with an arm that was barely usable. It had been a miracle he’d made it out alive himself. He felt cold, hearing Ehan’s words and was aware that his hand was shaking. He refused to buckle though. He had to be strong. He could not be weak, and needed to see this through.

Still. He could not see what had become of his brother. It would ruin him. Malik knew it and it was obvious Ehan knew it too, from how gentle he’d been in the subject.

“Finish your search,” Malik’s voice cracked twice even on those three words. Ehan looked sympathetic, not pitying, but that he understood what this knowledge was doing to him. “When we leave-“ he swallowed, “have two of you come back here, bring him to the surface. Pay a grave digger, and bury him,” he could barely get the orders out. It had been something he’d never wanted to think about. That he’d have to bury his younger brother. Malik had always intended to die first, that was his right as elder brother after all.

“Of course Dai,” and Ehan bowed respectfully and left Malik alone thankfully. It gave Malik time to collect himself and find his ground. He didn’t know how much time passed in which he short of agonized over what he’d done in leaving Kadar here and not once having gone to retrieve the body. He hadn’t told anyone else about it, or to bring his brother back from the underworld. It had been a topic he couldn’t even think about because it just hurt _too much_ to.

He didn’t know how long he waited before his brothers came back to him. “We didn’t find much,” Munahid said. He was the highest ranked of the seven, almost good enough to be a Master Assassin, and was sort of the leader of their group. “But, we did find this,” and he gave Malik a book.

Malik took it and opened it, it was written in French. Luckily all Assassins spoke at least three languages, Arabic, Hebrew, and then one of their choice. Malik’s hadn’t been French, not for his third language at least. It was however his forth and came in handy for eavesdropping on Templars and Crusaders. It would take time, but Malik would be able to read it. “Good,” Malik said snapping the book shut. “That was all?”

“Yes,” Munahid said though his expression belayed what he wouldn’t say, about Kadar. They were all smart enough not to bring it up after Ehan had been sent to deliver the news. No doubt Munahid had sent him to do it for his tact on the issue. Or maybe Ehan had drawn the short straw. Malik wondered what sort of argument there had been to not be the one to tell him they’d found Kadar.

“Well that’s it then,” and he turned and started walking back towards the entrance. He heard Munahid telling two others to deliver their brother to the earth, and then Malik refused to listen. He was grateful when he got out of earshot.


	7. Prairie Lily

_ _

_We leave for the Temple tomorrow. I will be glad when this is done. Azrael gave me a map, showing how to get into the Temple, the last time we met. It was supposed to be brief but we ended up staying too long, talking, being sentimental and nostalgic on the past years of our friendship. It was almost like old times, trying not to get caught. Though we were closer then. It was still a trial for a Templar and Assassin to meet under any conditions other than hostile. Just like old times, it was a hassle; but a requirement I suppose._

_We’ve been planning this for years, and he’s been searching since he was a young man, even before he met me. It almost warms my heart to see us get what we’ve long searched for. We’ve been doing this a long time, slowly shaping this land into a proper order. I doubt the former Master ever suspected us of it, for we were secretive about it. How could we not._

_I have my doubts though. I know Azrael is not one to willingly give up power. I’ve seen it myself, when he took over that Order of his. I know, because my men inside tell me, that the last Grand Master passed away from old age. It wouldn’t have been surprising, he was an old, decrepit, man, living long past his years or longer than he had any right to. I know the truth though, because he told me how he pressed the pillow across his Master’s face while he slept. He is a cruel man, and does what he has to to get the power he desires. Just as I have. I never did agree with his methods though, and waited for Gérard to get himself killed. He should have done the same, he was never one to wait though; too impatient for his own good._

_We agreed that my men would retrieve the artifact and would meet again once I had it. I am wary of his promise though, for another attempt at my life was made, weeks ago now, but still fresh. I am not particularly surprised, it would look suspicious if he didn’t send his men after me, I am the Grand Master of the Templar Order after all. I am at the top of their hit list, and always will be, just like Gérard was when we were younger. But I have reason to… suspect. He did not send some fodder for my head this time. This one was different, a demon given human form with a taste for blood and eyes like fire. It makes me cold to know this man._

_Azrael had told me about him, when he was a teenager though, not this sword-wielding monster that struck into our camp weeks prior. The boy, I cannot remember his name now, was always good with the sword, Azrael bragged about him, said that he could best any of my men. Or that he would, he was still training. Now I no longer doubt his claim. Now that boy is a man and I fear, knowing Azrael’s wicked streak, that he was trained his life to kill me. Azrael was my only equal with a sword, and even then I could always best him, and now he is old. But this man… I do not doubt that he was sent to take my life and would have succeeded had I not retreated. I will forever bear the scars upon my head from our meeting though, I wear them only with a bit of shame, but more pride, to know I slipped away from Azrael’s little demon-man._

_When we go down to the Temple I plan on taking more men then I perhaps should. I don’t doubt Azrael will send his own. He sent his demon after me, he will send others to claim the Apple. Why must he though! We want the same things, we are brothers! I do not understand him anymore. Perhaps it is because he is old now, though it shames me to even think such thoughts, for he was my friend. But he is old, and he seeks such power. Is he afraid? Afraid of death? He preaches to his Assassins to not be afraid. I think he is secretly terrified. More men will be good, we’ll be able to take any men he sends to us._

_I just hope he doesn’t send his demon._

_1191 March_

_—_

_It is slower progress than I expected. Though perhaps I’m just conning myself. The Temple is old, and mostly destroyed. It is taking my men a time to clear the rubble. We’re still searching for the Apple. Azrael has sent no men yet. I’m hoping he won’t, but it might be a dim fantasy. I know him. He will send men for the Apple. I know he doesn’t trust me like he used to. It’s enough to make my heart ache, because I remember how close we once were. Where is that man who I thought of as an elder brother?_

_I don’t know._

_I fear the Assassin’s consumed him._

_1191 March_

_—_

_We’ve found it. Now it is just a matter of getting to it. My men are building scaffolding. I almost scoff and can’t help but think that if… if Azrael and I were working together, in harmony instead of against each other his men would be here too. They would not need a scaffolding. They would laugh at it, find it insulting. I’ve seen Azrael climb up enough near sheer walls in his youth to know that it would have been a small matter for one of them to climb up to the artifact._

_We would have worked well together. It’s unfortunate that it had to come to this. I’m still awaiting for the day his men appear. I admit to growing paranoia, and have put more men on patrol in the caves as well as around the Temple Mount. Every day there is silence I fear that Azrael has dispatched not a collection of his men; but just one. I do not want that demon to end my life, not before I make Azrael pay for his treachery._

_I am starting to sound like him. Perhaps this is what Azrael was thinking when he decided I was no longer useful to him alive. It saddens me._

_1191 April_

_—_

_I have a bad feeling about today. I have a great headache and the scars, now healed nicely, throb as though freshly inflicted. I fear the demon is near, or that he is coming. I always knew he would come. I know why Azrael trained him as he has. For the day I became too unwieldily. The day I stood in his way for power. I should feel bitter. I don’t, strangely. I always knew he was a bit power hungry, a bit greedy, and perhaps a bit mad. I always knew this, so I can’t say I’m surprised. I probably knew this day would come for a long while. I can’t even tell when I knew. It feels like something I’ve always know. Maybe I have._

_Perhaps I knew the first time I met him on the docks of Acre, a killer’s smirk on his lips, dressed in white, though I can’t remember under which banner he came to me under. It might have been under the guise of an Assassin. Or maybe it was as a Templar. It was a long time ago. Maybe I knew than that this man would be my undoing, would see to my death. I almost don’t even doubt that he will, him or his Order._

_Despite my feeling and paranoia the reports have been quiet. None have reported any disturbances, as they have the past few weeks we’ve been here. I hope it is just a bad feeling. I do not wish to face that demon again, though I will if I must. If we fight, I do not even doubt for a moment he will slay me, especially how I alluded him last time. He won’t let me get_

—

Malik was trembling after he finished reading. The final entry was incomplete and he had no doubt that was when Altair had chosen to show himself, almost a year ago. He blinked and rubbed his tired eyes. After pouring over the journal of Robert de Sable his eyes hurt from reading the French, and was surprised when his fingers came away damp. Was he crying? He stared at his hand in horrified awe.

He wasn’t a fool though, and knew treason and heart break when he felt it. That their Master would align himself with Robert… He wiped his face. He couldn’t even doubt it was not some other Master, for Robert used his name, his real name. Only the other Masters or the Dais, those who needed to know, knew the Grand Master’s name anymore. Azrael: an archangel of death, the one who separated the soul from the body. Yet here in his journal Robert used the name liberally, and did he not keep mentioning their Master as a friend? He did. And what was this treason of Al Mualim killing their last Master? He knew Al Mualim was eccentric, and rather forward thinking… but it was unheard of for brothers to kill one another.

Though he supposed Al Mua- no, he didn’t deserve such a title anymore. He supposed Azrael was not really one of them. He was a Templar as well. The name felt funny to think, for Al Mualim was so engrained into Malik’s mind. Azrael had been Al Mualim since he was a boy and he did not remember the Master before him.

Sawsan took that moment to pad over to him and without worry over Robert’s journal stepped into Malik’s lap and put her front paws on his chest, she wanted attention. Malik pet her and she purred. He still marveled over it. Barely a month ago he couldn’t even make her sit in his lap if he wanted, now here she was, seeking his affections. He didn’t know what had caused the change, but he smiled whenever she came to him, and he’d been spoiling her, giving her probably more food than he should; she was starting to look fat.

“Dai,” he looked up, Munahid was crouched on the lattice above him. “What does the journal say?” he asked, curiosity written in ever line of his body. Of the eight of them Malik was the only who could read French, though Zev could speak it fluently.

Malik didn’t answer at first, the realization was a bit crushing as it was, and more than a little saddening. “Altair was right,” he said. Munahid cursed and he heard only oaths taken by men who were out of sight. Malik didn’t doubt they were all gathered around the lattice, listening. Malik leaned his head back against the stone and looked skyward at Munahid, who had not moved, though had his hand pressed over his mouth, in the appearance of shame. His next words he spoke loud enough for the others listening to hear. “Robert knows our Master’s name, he spoke of them as if they were friends, brothers even. Azrael has been toying with us for decades,” the use of the old man’s name sent whispers above him as they realized that was the man’s name, for they did not know.

“Apparently, Azrael was there when Robert first came to Acre, years ago to work for Gérard. They’ve been working for a long time to get where they are now, but obvious he’s now betrayed Robert,” he frowned. “He makes it sound as though Azrael will do the same to us. He’s mad, and has a lust for power, I know not what the artifact is they sought, but it sounded as though it was one of great power,” Sawsan butted against his hand. He rubbed the side of her jaw, her eyes lidded contently, though now she did not purr. “Altair was right, our Master has been keeping things from us. I fear he may do something… horrible.”

“Than what shall we do?” Munahid asked quickly, around the lattice other faces masked in shadow had appeared, silent as statues, the wind tugging at their white robes so they looked like feathers blowing in the wind.

Malik closed his eyes. He knew what had to be done. It had worried and ate at him while he’d read the journal. He opened them again after a long silence. “We must go to Masyaf and help Altair,” he said. “Azrael is not one of us, he is a snake, and does not deserve to lead us.”

“So you would suggest we rebel?” Munahid asked.

Malik’s eyebrows snapped down irritably, “You all have already done so,” he said harshly, “You stayed behind, listened to a conspiracy, and now there is proof. You all committed to this act, knowing it might be treasonist, and if you wish to leave know it will not be till I have run you through with my sword,” he ended in a hiss, staring harshly up at his brothers. They were silent.

“We are with you Malik,” Munahid said.

“Good,” he nodded and stood, holding Sawsan in the crook of his arms. “I wish to leave tomorrow, we ride for Masyaf in the morning, procure horses, and two of you, I don’t care who, I have tasks for you,” and he walked into the bureau. 

Sawsan took the moment to climb out of his arm and up onto his shoulder and went to sit on the left side. It was a strange, familiar weight. After the loss of his arm he’d been so unbalanced, compensating for a weight that wasn’t there. He’d since adapted to the lack of weight and the loss of one of his hands. Sawsan on his shoulder felt familiar and pushed his left shoulder down. He unconsciously kept it slightly up and close to his body, protecting the stump that remained of his arm, but he couldn’t hold it up along with her weight. It was… nice.

Out on the lattice he heard Munahid give a few orders and then two sets of feet dropped down into the garden as Malik pulled out a map of the kingdom. It was Munahid himself and Jamir.

“What do you need of us?” Munahid asked as Malik unrolled the map, Sawsan swayed on his shoulder but remained perched, neither Assassin commented on the tabby, they’d since become used to her and the fact that she liked to climb over Malik (because no, this wasn’t the first time she’d taken up residence on his shoulder).

“Ensure that the others are well equipped,” he told Munahid. “I do not foresee a battle if we can’t help it, as most of the crusaders are focused around Arsuf,” he said looking at the map. It was a chaotic mess of red and blue and orange, as well as white. Red for the Templars, blue the Saracens, orange the crusaders, and then the smaller marks in white were where the bureaus were located, both in and outside of cities. “I also don’t see us being able to procure weapons from the armory in Masyaf,” Munahid nodded at this, understanding.

“And what of me?” Jamir asked. Malik drew out a sheet of paper and wrote a list of names upon it as well as their locations.

“This is the list of all of our men, novice, full brother, and spy, within the city. Find them, and tell them that I’m being called away by Al Mualim for a yearly meeting I was not aware of till now, and that I leave in the morning if they need to see me before I depart. Do not tell them anything else,” Jamir nodded and Malik handed him the list. Jamir took it and when he pulled Malik kept hold and the other Assassin looked at him, “If you suspect anything, do not act on it,” he said seriously. Jamir nodded and Malik let go of the slip, Jamir was gone in a flash.

“Do you think any of our other brothers are traitors as Azrael?” Munahid asked, sounding at odds with calling their Master by his name, no matter how much he no longer deserved such a title.

“It pays to be cautious,” Malik said, “A lesson I learned all too well,” he glanced at his empty sleeve and Munahid, wisely, said nothing.

“Have you anything else for me, Dai?” he asked.

Malik thought, “I know you will see to the others being equipped,” Munahid nodded, he would. “But it is a long journey, it would be in our best interest to have provisions. I don’t have such things here though.”

Munahid nodded again, understanding, “We should go together, you can tell me of what you read. I know some of the others are… hesitant. They will not strike out on their own, but it would be good if I could reassure them.”

“That is wise,” Malik said and picked Sawsan off his shoulder and put her on the counter, she let Munahid rub behind her ears. “And do you believe on first sight Munahid?” he asked seriously.

Munahid took the question with silence before saying, “I was in the class two ahead of you,” he said, Malik said nothing. “I’m sure you know well our star pupil, one of the better instructors, and a sword master second to none,” Malik nodded. Rauf had been the top Assassin of his age group, just as Altair was the top of his and Malik’s. “He told me once, that one should know when to look behind, and watch other suns rise, or you would be blinded once they had risen and you had to turn to face them. He likes Altair, you know this,” Malik nodded, he did, he often saw Altair and Rauf sparring when they were younger and Altair no longer found challenge in the boys his own age. Altair was good against many people, Rauf against one, but often Altair’s speed seemed to win-out over the older Assassin. At least while Rauf only drew one blade. Malik did not wish to think of ever fighting the smiling Assassin if he drew both, he would be another Altair, and it made Malik’s throat dry to think of it. “I figure, that if a man I look up to like Rauf holds Altair in a high regard, I should as well. He may be prone to a blind rush, but not because he doesn’t think he can’t win, and it isn’t as though I haven’t seen him in thought, it was Altair’s idea to strike at the funeral en mass. He would not lead us astray.”

Malik smiled faintly, “He is lucky to have such a brother at his back Munahid,” he said.

“As he is lucky to have you as well, Malik,” he returned the smile. “We should go and get what we need,” he added, “as you said, it is a long journey ahead, and who knows what awaits us back home.”

“If we can even call it home,” Malik said softly and there was a moment of crushing silence between them as they thought that through, that they may not have a home anymore. They were dedicated to this mad conspiracy within their own order and should they fail, they would either be killed, or would never be able to return to the place they had grown up in, or trained, or played, or called home, ever again. They would be exiles and the thought made Malik’s chest tight.

“Lets not have such pessimistic thoughts,” Munahid said quickly as Malik came around the counter and went to close the lattice. “I believe Altair will see us through,” he said from the entrance of the garden as the lattice snapped closed.

“I should share your ideals,” Malik said and with a hand twist the mechanism locked into place.

—

The Masyaf sat was only a few miles from them now. They’d met no soldiers, and flew people as well, steering clear of the towns and villages. This close to Masyaf they had expected to find their brothers, stationed at the watch tower. But the watch tower was silent, eerily so in fact and Malik felt the hair along with arms prickle on end.

Malik dismounted from his horse, his legs ached a bit. They’d been in the saddle for weeks, not racing towards Masyaf, but making good time. But he was out of practice riding a horse. His men dismounted as well, groaning slightly from being in the saddle since early morning. 

Before straying too far he unlatched a basket on the rump of his horse and a very moody Sawsan glared at him from the soft padding he’d lined it with. He had thought to leave her, but then no one would have been around to feed her and he somehow knew she couldn’t care for herself. Well perhaps a day or two, but for the weeks he’d be gone? He’d promised Altair he’d take came of her, and he wouldn’t leave her to starve in Jerusalem. He picked her up and set her on the ground. She pranced away, looking like she’d swallowed a bladder balloon. Somehow, in the time they’d been on the road she’d gotten fatter. Malik hoped she wasn’t sick, but at the same time knew there was probably little he could do.

“The tower’s been abandoned,” Zev reported as he and two others came from the tower. “We found remains of a meal, and a game of dice. It’s like they just got up and left,” he was frowning. Malik liked it about as much as he did.

“Where is everyone?” Diyari asked, looking around, hand on the hilt of his sword. “We didn’t even seen anyone in the fields,” and that was perhaps more concerning than the lack of Assassins. The fields of Masyaf were dug into the mountain like great steps for giants, and  it was spring now, the snows had all thawed, they should be out planting. But instead the fields had been empty.

“We’ll find out soon I’m sure,” Malik said, raising his voice loud enough so they all could hear. “Rest for a bit, and limber up. I have a bad feeling when we get to Masyaf,” he frowned deeply and looked up the road towards Masyaf. They nodded and agreed before taking out some rations for a light meal. Malik did the same and sat on a bench outside the tower as he ripped apart a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.

Munahid came over to him and sat next to him. “I have a bad feeling,” he said lowly as the others tried to relax, yet it was obvious they all felt uneasy.

“You are not alone,” Malik replied in a cautious tone. “Something is very wrong.”

The man pushed back his hood and ran a hand across his short black hair. Like many of the higher ranks he’d had his shaved, but after a month on the road it had grown almost an inch. “I don’t think we should approach from the front,” he said and took half the loaf Malik offered him, he himself could barely stomach the food as it was. “Too dangerous.”

“If there is a danger,” Malik said hopefully.

Munahid looked at him and Malik frown, his eyes saying what his mouth did not, they both knew there was danger, just neither wanted to give the thoughts voice. “If we leave the horses, we can go up the eastern face before reaching the town,” he nodded towards the eastern side of the mountain.

“Get them by surprise,” Malik said.

“Yes. I know the shadows are not exactly our ways, we make our work a spectacle. But… I fear what would happen if we drew attention to ourselves.”

“A good plan,” Malik agreed. “Once the others have rested-

“And you as well,” Munahid said firmly. Malik said nothing, but obviously Munahid had noticed his own habits. He had not been sleeping much on the journey, worry and guilt kept him from falling asleep. He’d hoped to meet Altair by now, surely he should have reached Arsuf and come north again since they last saw each other. A tight knot of anxiety taunted him, whispered into his ear at  night that Altair was dead. And dead because Malik had refused to help him. So sleep was one of the few things he did at night. Malik offered Munahid a wane smile, but nodded.

Once they were rested his brothers took to arms, warming up their sword arms and working out any tightness in their bodies. They swung swords at each other, but never came close to hitting, they tried not to make noise and draw attention. Malik joined them, and more than one of them commented on the fact that Malik’s own sword arm was still in as good a shape it had been before. It filled him with pride to hear the praise. They only needed a short time to prepare themselves before they were ready and Munahid told them the plan, with Malik to agree to it.

As they were about to leave Sawsan appeared, there was a bit of blood on her muzzle and she appeared pleased with herself as she trotted up to them. Obviously he growing size had hardly shown to slow her down on hunting whatever small, helpless animal she’d decided was her lunch.

“Is the lily lady coming with us?” Seif asked. He was the youngest of them and had started calling Sawsan lily lady after the first week of their journey, the others had started as well. Sawsan also adored him because he gave her bits of meat from his dinner; suck up.

“I don’t know,” Malik said. “We’ll see if she follows, she’s a smart cat,” he shrugged. Seif nodded. “Lets go,” and he started up the road, the others followed. They walked the miles quickly, not meeting a soul, and even the land around them was quiet, as though it held it’s breath. Before coming in sight of Masyaf’s outer wall they detoured east and began the climb over the terrain around that would take them around to the side of the town and fortress. As they started over the rocks Sawsan seemed to slip right from the shadows.

Behind him Ehan chuckled, “It seems the lily lady is going to lead us Dai,” he joked, and it brought a much needed relief of pressure to the group.

“Lets hope she knows the way than,” Malik said and followed after Sawsan’s white tipped tail as it slipped over the top of a rise.


	8. Belladonna Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things. One, silly [fanart](http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lypdj9avIi1qm6kteo1_500.png) from a reviewer on ff.net
> 
> And two, I made a [soundtrack](http://shotgunsandstars.tumblr.com/post/18213600915/brokenballoons-a-lily-in-the-valley-drowning) for the story because I enjoy fanmixes :3
> 
> Also dear god my crush on Rauf is so fucking obvious (I only do terrible things to characters I love) QuQ

The village was more than a little deserted when they found it. In fact, it was empty and nothing here even breathed. Malik felt the void of life down to the core of his bones, like a great yawning pit had opened inside his chest. The others were no more at ease than he and of their party only Sawsan seemed undisturbed. She of course wouldn’t be and trotted over to the well and with only slight difficulty because of her bulk, jumped up onto the stone and put her head in the bucket. Strange cat.

“Where is everyone?” Munahid asked, his voice a whisper. No one questioned why he was whispering and his voice sounded loud in the great silence of the village. Malik just shook his head, he didn’t know, behind him the others shifted anxiously. Then with a slight flick of his hand beckoned the others to follow as he moved forward. They did not stay in a group, that would be foolish, but instead spread out and Malik lost sight of a few as they ducked into shadows or behind buildings, though he knew they had a sense of him.

They were not on the lowest level of the village, but rather further up the mountain, with the great gray fortress looming over them. Never had Malik seen his home so quiet and empty and it sent more than a small jolt of fear and unease down his spine that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle and stand up on end. He almost jumped out of his skin when Sawsan suddenly arched up against his leg. He gently toed her out of the way and he felt her glare. He simply chose to ignore her.

Silently they made their way further up the mountain, staying always just out of sight and usually Malik saw Sawsan out of the corner of his eye, prowling around without fear. Malik felt foolish himself. There was no one here. Just… no one. Not a soul or beast or creature. It was depressingly empty.

But only for so long it seemed and his head jerked up at the sound of clashing blades. He didn’t have to tell the others and they ran towards the sounds before spotting Zev, Ehan, and Diyari under attack by… their brothers! Men of their Order cut down Zev who fell forward onto his knees, and then collapsed onto his face. He did not rise. Malik and the others surrounded them and quickly had their brother’s dealt with. Three ended up killed, even as they tried to kill Malik and his men, the others they knocked out.

“What in the name of all that is holy happened?” Malik hissed at Ehan and Diyari. Diyari was sporting a massive bleeding wound on his arm, and Ehan was simply breathless, eyes wide with adrenaline.

“They jumped us,” Ehan said, Seif went to Diyari as he spoke and the younger man and Jari made work of seeing what they could do for their wounded brother. “They were blasphemers, speaking of the light of the Master and there is no will but that of the Master,” he frowned deeply, troubled and with a shaking hand sheathed his sword. “And now Zev is dead and so are three more,” he scowled at their fallen brothers.

“Do you think they were referring to Al Mua- Azrael?” Haytham asked carefully, standing to Malik’s side. There was a groan from Diyari as Jari cut away the fabric of his shirt to see the wound.

“There is no doubt in my mind that they were,” Ehan said spitefully. “By his will, they said. _By his will._ Malik, what is going on?” he demanded.

“A terrible thing, brother,” Malik frowned. “Robert’s journal does not speak much of the artifact, but I only assume that it is what is doing this. Earlier entries said it was capable of control…” he petered off with a frown.

“Lily lady what are you doing here?” Seif asked, almost scoldingly as the brown and orange tabby stepped right up and into Diyari’s lap. She did not purr and neither Seif nor Jari made an attempt to move her from his lap, as the cat distracted the hurt Assassin from their work on his wounded arm.

“I fear the Azrael is controlling them,” Malik said.

“If that is the case than they are our enemies, just as the Templars,” Munahid said savagely.

“They are our brothers,” Haytham tried.

“They side with that heretic and that traitor. These men are no brothers of mine,” and he kicked one of the corpses of those who had attacked Ehan, Diyari and Zev.

“How is he?” Malik asked Jari.

“He will live,” replied the Assassin as he bound the man’s arm in a thick bandage. “He cannot fight though, or he will lose more blood,” he frowned.

“See him into one of the buildings where he can rest.”

“My sword arm is still good,” Diyari protested.

“You are no good to us half a cripple brother,” Malik said hotly and no one dared to speak about that. “If you fight, you will bleed out, you will die. And I want no one else to die,” he looked at Zev with a sad frown. Diyari adverted his eyes. “Jari, look after him, Seif, come,” he beckoned and Seif jumped to his feet. “Once he’s secured come and find us,” he ordered Jari who nodded. “The rest of you—“ he broke off as they all heard more fighting, another who was of his own mind. “With me,” he finished quickly and took off, the others at his heels.

It seemed to take too long to near the sound of fighting which sounded like two large forces were battling against each other on the level below. They stopped at a cliff and Malik looked down, his stomach dropped but his heart soared, he would recognized that fighting style anywhere; Altair had arrived. But there were too many. Against guard fodder Altair could cut through men like a thresher in a wheat field, but all the men against him wore the white robes of a fully trained brother, even he would have difficulty taking them all. “Down them,” Malik said even as he pulled out a knife and hurled it at the men below. The four with him quickly followed in suit and rained knives down upon the fighters. Munahid even loosed a few bolts from his crossbow before they were all downed with the help of Altair’s sword. Malik mourned the fact that all the men were possibly dead but a stupid voice in the back of his head told him he didn’t care, so long as Altair still yet drew breath.

Altair for himself in looking around in confusion, unable to determine from where his help came from. Malik finds it amusing. For all that the Assassins chastise the city guards for never looking up, neither does Altair. “Altair!” he called, “Up here!” and Altair’s head shoots up and even at a distance Malik gets a shiver of… something at feeling Altair’s gaze upon him. There is a silence before with a sharp snap Altair sheaths his blade and jogs up the hill to them.

“You picked a fine time to arrive,” Altair short of growls, though he also sounds grateful at the same time, and he eyes Malik and his men. Malik wonders if he recognizes these men as those he worked with back in Jerusalem at the funeral. He can’t say because the man’s eyes stay on the others for only a moment before his attention is back on Malik. The full force of his gaze after a fight is something Malik will never get used to.

“In time to save you it seems,” Malik says, letting his words hold a measure of bite to them.

Altair seems undisturbed, “Al Mualim has betrayed us,” he said in a low hiss and Malik can actually hear the strain of his heart break. It is only something Malik picks up because of time spent with the other man in their youth.

“Yes,” he agrees in a similar tone, “His Templar allies as well,” he adds, a silver lining to all of this it seems.

Altair almost seems surprised, “How do you know?”

“After we spoke I did as you suggested, me and our brothers learned a great deal of the large picture you saw before us all. In the ruins of Solomon’s Temple,” Altair actually flinched at the word, Malik did not dwell upon it, “there was a journal written by Robert. The revelations it contained broke my heart,” he said mournfully, “but it opened my eyes. You were right, all along Azrael has used us!” again Altair was taken aback this time by the use of their Master’s name. “We were never meant to save the Holy Land, but deliver it into his hands,” and his hand clenched into a fist.

“He must be stopped,” Altair agreed gravely.

“How does he do this to our brothers?” Seif suddenly asked.

“It is the artifact, he told me it can create illusions, and also control the masses.”

“Then we will go to him and put an end to this madness,” Malik said sharply.

Altair blinked and his eyes darted across the faces before him, Malik almost thought he looked… panicked? “No, what he’s done to the others he can do to you as well. You must stay far from him,” he spoke only to Malik thought and he saw Altair’s fingers on his left hand twitch in a subtle tell of anxiety most Assassins had. Fear, anxiety, nerves, all things that made an Assassin wish to unleash their hidden blade and silence whatever was causing them grief. Malik knew, with an aching heart, that it was Azrael who’s life Altair wished to end.

“Then what do you suggest?” Malik almost snapped, irritated Altair would tell them to stay out of this fight. Azrael was his Master as well, and his lies and deception hurt them all like a hot knife to the gut to know of his seemingly casual betrayal. “My sword arm is no less than it was, and my men remain my own,” he motioned to the others who he felt stand up a bit straiter behind him. “You would be a fool to not want our help Altair,” he implored.

Altair shook his head almost desperately, as though he didn’t even want to think of such an action. “No,” he said again. “Distract these thralls, if they cannot come to his aid should he call them and if they are drawn from my presence I will deal with him,” he said gravely.

Malik simmered, “I will do as you ask,” he almost spat, enraged that Altair would see them as nothing but means to an end.

Altair spoke almost hesitantly then, “These men we face, they are not of their own minds. If you can avoid killing them—

“Yes,” Malik said and shot Munahid a sharp look, “Just because he has betrayed the tenets of the Creed does not mean we must as well.”

“That is all I ask,” Altair bowed his head to them all as they heard the found of running feet. They all looked, but it was only Jari, who gave Malik a swift nod, Diyari was safe. “Safety and peace my friend,” Altair continued, looking right into Malik’s face and he felt his throat dry, “my brothers,” he added to the others behind him.

“Your presence here will deliver us both, Altair,” Malik said, Altair’s lips twitched and then he took off. Malik took in a deep breath before turning to his men, trying to ignore the fact that Altair may be running to his death and the thought made his stomach turn into a burning knot. “Any ideas for how to draw these captive minds to us?” Malik asked them.

Jari looked amused, “The Master is a heretic! A blasphemer!” he yelled in the opposite direction of the group. “His words are lies coated in honey!” A few of their number chuckled in amusement but added their own voices to his calls. Malik however kept silent and his eyes tracked Altair up the road.

“If we can get them to chase us,” Seif said suddenly. “The gates of Masyaf must be open if Altair got in here without incident. We could lead them out and close the doors behind us.”

“The boy has a fine head,” Munahid agreed.

Malik nodded, “Ehan, Seif, go down to the gates, we will draw them there,” he ordered and quickly the two fled. Ehan took the fast way, jumping strait off the side of the cliff and into a pile of hay below, Seif climbed up onto the roof of a building and raced across the rooftops.

“Here they come,” Haytham said and Malik turned away from his two fleeing brothers as they sprinted towards the gates. Jari’s cries had finally ceased as the ground around them became ringed with Assassins, journeymen, and novices alike. It was not the full force, for there were still men abreast on mission across the Kingdom, but there was a sizable force here that was more than something to balk at. 

They readied their weapons.

“Let them come,” Munahid said quietly, crouching low, his sword before him like a shield and a glittering silver snake.

“Follow Ehan’s lead, the others will follow,” Malik said as their brothers approached. “Haytham,” he ordered and the man threw himself off the cliff without question. 

An Assassin broke ranks, charged and in the next instant Jari had blocked his strike and punched him so hard in the face his did not rise again. “Malik,” Munahid growled, “Go, I will follow,” he ordered as Malik and his men were still slowly backing away. Malik glanced behind him, saw he was off target but did not hesitate, he pushed himself in the direction of the hay as he fell backwards.

There was a soft thump when he landed and he quickly scrambled out of the hay. Haytham was waiting nearby in the shadow of a building in case more came. Jari flew over the edge not a moment after Malik and practically tumbled from the hay. Above they heard fighting and the three watched in silent fear before Munahid fell off the side, off target as Malik had been. By some magic that could only be described as flight he landed in the hay and burst from it, scattering as much of it as he could.

From above an Assassin fell almost on top of him. Their struggled scattered more hay before Munahid slew him, kicking the body and more hay from the pile before going to join the others. Another Assassin flew, but the hay was too thin and he died with a scream before Munahid couldn’t take it and slid his throat to end his life.

“Is the Master so great that he allows us of contempt to continue to draw breath‽” Jari cried up to them. The thralls seemed to glower and then they were moving towards safer passage down the mountain. Some took to the roofs, scuttling across them like insects, while most took the path.

“Run,” Malik said, voice hoarse and dry, none of them moved at first. “I said run!” he snarled and shoved Haytham. The other man started and then bolted, the others close at his heels.

“For the Master!” someone called behind them.

“His way is the light,” a shadow passed over them and Malik was yanked aside in time to miss a killing blow from above. There was a brief skirmish before his assailant went down with a devastating punch to the kidneys that left him gasping. Then they were running again, almost falling over their own feet to get away from the legion of mind warped Assassins.

Several Assassins fell before they made it to the gates, which seemed to take an eternity to come into sight. “Split up, and go to ground once you’re through the gates,” Malik panted to the others, he didn’t see them nod, but knew they would do as commanded.

They passed through the open gates, he sound of a hundred feet racing after them and did not stop. Then, slowly, they heard the strain of the great doors of the gate groan and then with heavy thuds closed. “Scatter,” he heard Munahid call and they broke apart. Malik headed towards the mountain side and began to climb as he never had in his life, his heart race, fingers and boots scrambling to find purchase in the rock. He could hear them though still, scrambling behind him and fear laced through him.

He reached the slight plateau before them and ran, he did not dare look behind him as he came to a copse of trees and skitted inside. The trees here were not old, but they were gnarled with grasping limbs and roots that tripped. Malik fought through the foliage before spotting the place he could hide. This copse was not unknown to him, it was in fact a secret place he and his brother had often gone to when they were younger.

Malik chanced a glance back and saw no one, but he could _hear_ them, close. He quickly ducked behind a bush that was nearly as tall as he was and pressed his back against the wall it hugged. He clamped his hand over his mouth to quiet his breathing as he edged slowly along the wall. He froze when an Assassin ran past, yelling something about the Master’s light, but he did not stop. His breath shuttered out of him in relief and he continued to edge along before he came to the large crack in the wall.

The crack was almost entirely hidden by the bush and Malik could barely squeeze through it, it had been easier when he was younger, he’d been smaller than. But the narrow crevice quickly gave way to a wide one, almost like a path. Hunched over quite a bit Malik hustled through the crack before it opened on the other side a good hundred feet through.

The daylight was a relief. Behind him, separated by one hundred feet of rock and a bush to disguise it, he could hear his brothers. They did not call to each other, but he could hear them trampling through the copes.

Malik took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again he checked to make sure he was both unharmed and still had all his weapons. Yes. He did. Good. He took another breath, and forced his heart to slow and his body to calm. Once he’d gotten ahold of himself he headed back towards the village.

He made quick time and returned to the gates where Seif, Ehan and Haytham already were. “Where are the others?” he asked quickly.

“Not here yet,” Ehan frowned.

Malik looked towards the fortress and felt a dark sense of foreboding. “Seif, you stay here, wait for Munahid and Jari,” Seif looked like he wanted to complain, but he held his tongue. “Ehan, Haytham, we will go and help Altair,” they nodded, “When the others return meet us at the fortress,” he told Seif who nodded who nodded stiffly. Malik motioned and the two other men followed.

This time they noticed villagers, though they were few and did not approach, but stayed within their doorways, or well out of range, they were wary of the Assassins. Malik could see that they were like his brother’s though, their minds were not their own, his jaw clenched in anger. The old man had much to pay for. They were not stopped by anyone and Malik thought that most if not all the other Assassins were now outside the village. That was good, they’d done as Altair had asked, but now there was nothing stopping them from helping him.

A man suddenly stepped into their path and Malik drew up short. Haytham ran right into him and Malik bowed forward but did not stumble forward. “Shit,” he breathed.

“The Master is not to be disturbed,” said the familiar man and Malik felt his stomach fall out from under him.

“This is cruel,” Ehan said. “Even you Rauf,” he snapped at the man in their path. Haytham was the one who did not recognize him, at least not until his name was spoken.

“We have to get through,” Malik said. “Stand aside brother, we wish you no harm.”

“The Master is not to be disturbed,” Rauf said again, tone mechanical and next to him Ehan was shaking, when Malik glanced at him he saw it was with both rage and sorrow. With a measured slowness Rauf finally drew his sword.

“We are not enough skill to beat him,” Ehan said. “It is like fighting against a demon.”

“Or Altair,” Malik lamented.

“There is little difference between the two!” Ehan snapped. At least Rauf had not advanced.

“He is just one man,” Haytham said, Ehan whapped him across the back of the skull.

“You are a fool,” he snarled. “You stand before the man that before Altair was the Order’s golden blade you stupid, young, fool,” Haytham rubbed the back of his head. “Not to mention it is no secret the Dais favor him as the next Mentor.”

“There will be no Mentor if we do not stop Azrael,” Malik said firmly. “We must,” and Malik drew his blade.

“I greet death with a stiff back,” Ehan said and drew his own sword.

“And I do not greet death at all, he will fall,” Haytham was the one lone voice of optimism. Malik was not surprised. Since Rauf had mostly been contained to the fortress and the training of the next generation it was rare people saw his true skill. Most saw him as a kind man, always ready with a smile. But his tongue was as sharp as Malik’s, and his blade as deadly as Altair’s. Years of beating into novices had not dulled him, as Malik had seen more than once as he swept the feet strait out from under Altair’s legs.

“Pray he does not draw his other sword,” Malik said, “Or the others come before he slays the lot of us,” for he had no doubt of his death at Rauf’s hands if it was just them three.

“Don’t make us do this brother,” Ehan called.

“The Master is not to be disturbed,” Rauf said again with a reptilian tilt of his head and to Malik’s misery he drew his second sword. “You will not pass,” he said.

Ehan went first, with a scream that would have startled a lesser opponent. Rauf just bent low, stance wide and ducked from Ehan’s sword. Malik did not let Ehan go alone though and quickly charged after. He kept the words in his head that Rauf did not do well when fighting against many enemies like Altair did. That being said Rauf could still cut a blood swath through a crowded army as effortlessly as Altair himself. However this was not a crowded army, this was a Master Instructor against two full brothers and an ex Master.

None of their strikes hit. Instead Rauf moved like smoke between their flashing swords, as effortless as breathing. Meanwhile Rauf’s own twin swords clashed against their defenses and Malik knew he had more than one cut on his body as he was too slow to get his sword up against Rauf’s. Malik felt himself grow frustrated. None of them could land a hit, yet Rauf seemed to do so effortlessly, though no killing blows, as must of his hits were superficial, though that was mainly thanks to their own dodging.

Malik heard running feet and then suddenly there were three more blades added to the fight. Now it was six on one. Malik watched for openings to get in and draw Rauf to a halt, hell he’d be happy to slap the man on the back of the head with the broad of his sword. But even against six swords Rauf only took a few blows as he twisted and in some cased vaulted clear over slashes and stabs. It was like fighting a damn mirage! It didn’t help that some of the others, Haytham and Seif especially, was starting to tire.

Seif drew back, as though to collect himself. He was the youngest, and Malik had a sick feeling that Rauf had trained him, for how hard it seemed to be for him to take a swing at the instructor. But as Seif stepped back from the wall of swinging swords their target must have seen something they did not because the next instant he was suddenly airborne and jumped clear over Jari and Munahid.

Seif screamed when Rauf landed on him, his feet landing on his chest and they all heard the crunch of breaking bones. Seif sobbed but his misery was cut short by Rauf’s swords slashing against each other across his throat like a giant pair of shears.

Munahid did not falter and launched himself at Rauf again with a roar. But the man ducked and Munahid overextended himself. It would have been an easy kill for Rauf, to simply turn his blade upwards and disembowel their brother. But he did not. Instead he was straddled across Seif’s chest, both of his weapons on the dirt beside him, head and body bowed over Seif. There was a slight silence as Munahid collected himself and they gathered around Rauf to see what he would do. But he did not move, he was hunched over Seif’s body, his head on the boy’s chest.

No one moved, and then they heard the very distinct sound of a sob. Malik swayed where he stood, floored. Then Rauf’s body lurched and there was another sob, his back and arms tightening as he gripped the front of Seif’s robes. “Rauf?” Ehan was the one who spoke.

Rauf rocked backwards so he was sitting strait, his head tipped back and he screamed. It made Malik’s ears ring and when it faded into echoes all that could be heard was the sound of Rauf’s sobs as he leaned over Seif, body shuttering. His sobs turned into high keens of mourning, as he gently rocked himself and none of them knew what to do. Malik had never seen such a display…

No, that was a lie.

“I think that was his brother,” Malik said and they all turned to him. He knew what it was like to lose a younger brother. He’d watched Kadar be killed before his own eyes. He however couldn’t imagine what Rauf was going through. The man had just _killed_ his own brother in cold blood. Rauf keened miserably, which was no answer. “Ehan, stay with him,” he said, they had to keep moving.

“What should I do with him?” Ehan asked and looked more than slightly heart broken.

“Just… stay with him,” Malik said, he didn’t even know what to do with the mourning Master as he sobbed into the front of his younger brother’s robes. Ehan nodded, wide eyed and the others followed Malik up the path towards the fortress. None of them spoke and the sound of Rauf’s grief followed them up the stairs cut into the mountain.

The main yard in front of the fortress was massed with villagers, so that was what had happened to them. They didn’t move, or speak. They just stood there, gazing towards the fortress. “I don’t know what’s worse, them, or our brothers,” Haytham said.

“Shh,” Munahid shushed him.

“I hear fighting,” Jari said quietly and quickly they gently pushed through the ranks of villagers to the ramp that led to the front of the fortress. They slipped inside and the place was silent. It was like a crypt and Malik felt the hair on his arms stand on end. There was not even the sound of fighting Jari had heard.

“Destroy it!” a mocking shout came from the garden and they all jumped in surprise. “Destroy it as you said you would Altair!”

Malik didn’t think, he was just running. His boots scuffed the polished tiles as he race through the foyer and bounded up the steps to the garden level. He paused only briefly when he saw the huge golden ball projected in the sky before his eyes locked on Altair’s form and he forced his feet into motion. “Altair,” Malik called, running up to him. He slowed as he neared and they stood side by side, staring at the great sphere, the shapes across it unknown and strange, some shapes were pricked with dots of brilliant white light. Then, the image flickered and a strange, wetless, golden rain fell upon the ground. “Altair?” Malik asked. 

Stiffly the other man walked stiffly over to where the orb had been in the sky and picked up a smaller golden ball, about the side of a pomegranate. “The cause of all this misery,” Altair said and then turned back to him, his mouth drawn into a frown.

“Azrael is dead,” Malik turned his head and saw Munahid by a body.

“You did it Altair,” Malik said with more than a little relief. Altair tucked the strange ball away and took a few stilted steps towards Malik before he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Malik rushed over to him and had to refrain from recoiling when Altair vomited. The wet splatter of vomit on grass and blood made his senses roil. Altair’s body dry heaved, nothing more came up and he rolled over onto his back.

Malik crouched down by Altair’s head. Altair’s eyes sought his own and Malik was not surprised to see that tears at the edges. “It’s over,” he said softly.

Malik gave him a wave smile, “You did it,” he said again. He heard Munahid, Jari and Haytham approach, “Secure the fortress,” he said turning around to order them, “And one of you bring Diyari to the infirmary, I will look at him later,” and shooed them away. They went. Malik turned back to Altair, who’s eyes were closed, his breath just slightly uneven, Malik dropped down onto his knees instead of continuing to balance on the balls of his feet.

“Malik,” Altair said softly and cracked his eyes open.

“Yes, Altair?”

“I know he was a traitor, I know he betrayed us, he deserved to die… but I already miss him,” his voice ended soft and thin.

Malik felt his heart throb with sympathy. “Oh Altair,” he said gently, “I know. He was many things to many people,” he hesitated a moment before steeling himself and reached out to gently stroke his hand across Altair’s temple. “But you did the right thing.” Altair said nothing but closed his eyes again and leaned into Malik’s touch. Malik’s breath caught in his throat, but he said nothing.

“I am tired,” Altair breathed.

“Sleep,” Malik said softly. “This time I will keep you safe, as you have just done to all of us,” and he stroked Altair’s face again. Altair gave a deep, bone weary sigh, and Malik felt him relax under his tough. Malik shifted again, so now he was sitting, cross-legged, facing the garden and Altair’s boots, his back to the fortress, his hand gently resting on the other man’s cheeks, gently stroking it with his thumb. Like that the man so many called a demon slept like an angel.


	9. Voodoo Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we really start to move away from canon. I don't consider that piece of garbage Ubisoft calls a game (Revelations) to be proper canon. As far as I'm concerned, that game never happened.

The world moved around Malik in a blur even as he bustled down the newly cleaned hallway. As he passed his brothers in the hall he offered them a nod, they a more respectful bow of the shoulders. But there were few of them here, though Malik supposed that that was the point. One did not come to this part of the fortress unless you wanted to be alone.

It had been three weeks since the coup. The dead had been buried, all of them, the time of mourning still hung thick in the air over the fortress, and Azrael had been burned. Malik and Munahid had tried to convince Altair otherwise but he had been insistent. He said the old man was full of tricks and he would only be satisfied the man was dead once the body was destroyed. So Azrael had burned. The memory of Altair standing over the pyre as the flames ate away at the old man's body was forever ingrained in Malik's memory and whenever he remembered he felt a chill.

It had taken them almost a week to figure out how to undo the mess that Azrael had made of the fortress and their brothers. But in the end Altair had once more seen them through and had figured out how to work the strange device that was the cause of all this. Altair did not let the others hold it, but not as the old man had, where it was because he coveted it, but more it seemed because he could not stand the thought of someone else being corrupted by it as though the idea of it harming anyone else was like an acid to his mind. Altair himself seemed amazingly immune to whatever siren song that had corrupted the former Mentor, and that was enough for most of them.

The Order in Masyaf had been almost completely returned to its previous state and most of the Assassins simply wanted to move on with their lives, forget the fate that had befallen them and exposed them to such horrible weakness. The main difference was the chain of power, with Altair at the head. Before any of them had been aware of it the others had begun to call Altair 'sir' and 'master'. Without even his consent Altair had had the mantle of Mentor placed upon him, something not unheard of, but not common either. Usually Mentors were elected into the position by the Dais, to ensure the Mentor would have the Order's best interest at heart and not a power hungry fool. Malik did not look forward to the day the Dais gathered to elect the next proper Mentor. How many men would disagree if it was not Altair? How many would deny the Dais' proclamation? The idea of a schism within the Order chilled Malik to the marrow, and he had no doubt that if it came to such extremes more men would side with Altair. He was seen as the Savior of Masyaf, the one who had killed Azrael and then freed them from their service of a mad man. While loyal to the Order he knew the Assassins were more loyal to things they could trust, and after what Altair had done, they trusted no one more.

Malik pushed the thought away. First he had to _find_ Altair. He would think of the meeting of Dais later. If possible he didn't want to think of it at all, as impossible as that was. He was, after all, a Dai himself. He would be one of those men to elect or decline Altair's position as Mentor. Altair did not want to be Mentor, he did not want the responsibility or the title or the stress that went with the job. He knew Altair wasn't stupid, he knew this, but he was not of the leading crop. Malik's brow furrowed at that thought. No. Altair was a warrior, not a man who sat behind a desk and sent men to hunt in his stead. He had a feeling he would have to learn to be though, the Order would rip itself apart if he didn't _learn_. 

Malik reminded himself that he would be there with him for it. Him and the men from Jerusalem and men who could help him. Altair would not be alone. Never again would he have to suffer or soldier on by himself as he had for years. Never again would someone dismiss him. Never again would anyone speak to him in a condescending tone or _touch_ him without his permission. He would be the final authority. The thought made Malik's mouth dry.

He abruptly checked his momentum, which had been speeding up as he moved through the halls, at a familiar and pointed 'meow!' He took a few steps backwards and saw the rotund form of Altair's amber eyed tabby. Curious. She was usually by his side, rarely leaving it, even while he worked at the Mentor's desk with Malik's help. Malik in truth did much of the work, but he did not hold it against the other man. Malik had that particular skill set: Altair did not. What was Sawsan doing here alone? He didn't know. She meowed at him again before turning around and walking down the opposite way. Malik glanced around before following after her. 

He caught up with her round form quickly, her gait was only what Malik could call a waddle, for her large, round, belly encumbered her normal easy lop. Malik had at first been worried after the tabby when she'd started to get big on the trip from Jerusalem. He'd been afraid she had worms or some other disease. Thankfully it was nothing like that though. She was just with kittens. She was very young to be a mother, though he had a feeling that the age he'd originally given her as a kitten had been very off and that she'd just been seriously underfed and small for her age. He knew she would be due soon, perhaps any day now. He hoped it helped.

He followed Sawsan down the hall and then down another hall. This part of fortress had not been used in a long time, several years at least, but it was still clean, for the novices had been set to clean the entire fortress along with the normal men and women hired to care for the fortress after they'd been roused from their stupor, as it had been long enough for the entire place to become dirty. The novices were rather glad to not have real lessons while they worked on restoring the Order at the least and they knew less of the actual situation then full brothers. It was just better if children not know what had happened. Then they came to a long abandoned common room. The room was bare of all furniture but it did not smell unused. Nor was it as sitting on the windowsill was a familiar form, the wind tugging at his white robes.

Malik did not call out to him as he approached. Sawsan was too fat to jump up onto the sill and she paced a bit under the thick sill, obvious in want of Altair's attention. He did not turn to her though. Silently Malik joined him at the window. Altair was half folded up on himself on the sill, staring out into nothing, his vision far gazing. Malik leaned against the sill, propping himself up on one arm.

He was not surprised to see Altair here. As of late, when Malik or Munahid weren't forcing him to sit at the Mentor's desk to at least keep the appearance of what the rest of the Order called him, he went off by himself and this was not the first time Malik had found him on a ledge over looking the world. He knew Altair was hurt deeply by what had happened with Azrael and having to burn the man he'd thought of as a father. It was not unusual for Malik to make him eat, sometimes even feeding him like he had that time in Jerusalem. He slept lightly, in rooms adjacent to the new, young, Mentor in case something happened and the men who'd accompanied him from Jerusalem were often on guard duty outside the door. Malik would not put it past Altair to do something foolish, or to harm himself. He recognized the signs of such a deep grief. Malik had suffered through them as well and now he was helping more then one powerful man cope with the loss of someone important to them. Altair had lost his father, for a second time. Rauf his brother. More over besides had lost brothers or friends so close they may have well have been of the same blood. Such a useless loss of life! Curse Azrael and the bitch who birthed him!

Below, Sawsan had decided to drape herself across his feet, as silent as her caretakers on the sill. Altair still did not acknowledge him. Finally, he spoke, "What is going to be done with the kittens?"

He knew Altair heard, even if he did not move. After several moments he finally replied. "They will stay here and be cared for. They will stay with their mother," and Malik heard the unspoken, 'and me' that followed it. That and the unspoken order Altair made as a Mentor, as though daring someone to tell him no, to deny him.

Malik did not plan on denying Altair of anything, as no one ever would again. "Good," he said simply. "It will be good for there to be new life in this place after around much death." Now Altair looked at him, but Malik was not looking. He was looking ahead. The breeze that had been blowing kicked up a bit, neither of them spoke.

"Thank you," Altair said softly.

"Of course, Master."

"Mali-

"Shh," he shushed gently.

"I do not want this," Altair said in a soft, almost bitter, tone.

"I know," Malik said, "but it is yours."

"I would gladly give it to you," he said.

"And what little good it would do me," Malik said in a tone one would use on a child when they said something amusing, but not in a patronizing way. Altair frowned at him. "The birds have come in. The Dais are coming, save for Tamir, for he cannot leave Arsuf at a time like this. They will make the will of the Order official," he said, using a gentle voice, knowing that his words did not please Altair. They did not please him either. The meeting of the Dais to decide the fate of the Order would be a mess, he already knew, and he did not want to get into the middle of it, though he knew he would. The others had to see what had to be done, even if Altair was not the best option, he was perhaps the only one.

Altair turned away, "I am not cut out to be Mentor," he said. "And are there not better candidates then I?"

"Possibly," Malik agreed. "But these are delicate times. The men of Masyaf will not take well to a bunch of scholars to decide their fate for they still feel the burn of what Azrael did to us. They will want you, and not someone that may be better equipped. You are a hero, their savior-

"I'm sure Rauf thinks that. Or any of our brothers who died that day," Altair suddenly spat, his voice all venom and self loathing. "I was too slow to end it quickly."

"One failure in a longer list of achievements," Malik said patiently. Altair had one hand on the sill as he glared out into the world and Malik gently picked it up. Altair turned to him, but did not comment, nor did he pull away even as Malik cradled his mutilated left hand in his remaining right. "One life to save a thousand," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking Altair's palm. 

Altair's shackles lowered, his own self deprecation fading. "You did exactly what you could Altair. You know Rauf, nor anyone else blames you," Altair did not comment and Malik said nothing as well. He knew words would only help so much when it came to Altair, because he was not a man of words. But this was something Malik _could_ do. These small touches which seemed to offer the tormented man comfort. Malik did not question why, but if they did then Malik would use them as often as required. Altair watched the world from the window sill, his thoughts obviously a thousand miles away, Malik watched Altair, his own straying no further then the man on the sill. A slight grin came to his face when Altair gave his fingers a light squeeze.

—

It was one of the times Malik had set Altair at the Master's desk. He could tell that Altair's limited patience was running out, he did not have the will power to sit for hours on end going over messages from the Order, or ledgers or notes or any of the other myriad things the Mentor had to read and understand. Malik was as patient with him as he could be though, going through everything slowly, so Altair understood, but he could feel Altair's frustration boiling under his skin.

"Master Altair, Dai Malik," Haytham said coming up to the desk and bowed a bit at the shoulders. Malik looked up wearily, the day was only half over and he only wanted to retire to his room to rest for an hour or so. His head was beginning to pound. He hoped Haytham had not brought news that would add to this ache.

Altair seemed relieved to have a distraction. He sat up a bit straiter in his chair and next to him Malik stood from where he'd been leaning against the desk. He would never say it aloud or even really admit to it, but he was glad Haytham had come along just then. He'd been ready to beat Altair over the head with his quill, for if Altair's patience was at its end Malik's was hanging on by a mere thread. The only reason he had not done so already was because one did not simply beat the Mentor with a quill (or more likely a book) because they were frustrating you.

"Yes, Haytham?" Altair asked the younger man, who honestly looked very excited about something. Since the coup the five men who remained from Jerusalem had gained greater status. Munahid himself had started to gain the reputation of a Master, though only the Mentor could assign that title. It was a simple issue that there was no true Mentor at the head of the Order however, even if Altair was the acting head. Even though Haytham was a younger man, younger then Altair or Malik (he and Seif just stopped wearing their grays recently, or Seif had, but no more) but after the coup even Haytham was treated like a man with five more years of experience and age, even if he didn't have the actual rank to back it up.

He just grinned broadly, "Come, it's the lily lady," he said and Altair was out of his seat almost before the words had left Haythem's mouth. The younger man took a step back and motioned for Altair to follow. Malik didn't bother to say something foolish like to not go, nothing he or anyone else could have said would have made Altair stay in that chair.

Malik followed after the two other men with an amused look on his face. Malik had been expecting this day for the two weeks since they'd figured out that Sawsan was with kittens. He'd also been looking forward to it. Altair's depression had not faded, nor did it help with him learning how to be a Mentor or with his patience level. He hoped this rejuvenated Altair and put him to task, or at least made him more likely to stay on task. There would probably be a short time where Altair would be glued to wherever the tabby had decided to have her kittens, but that was unavoidable. Malik could handle the Order while Altair was indisposed.

Haytham led the two down the stairs and into the garden. "One of the women found her," Haytham was saying as they walked across the plaza. It was the middle if the day and the garden was empty, even of the women who tended it and the men who wished their company. A blessing in disguise. Altair's attention to his tabby was something Malik did not want well known. He knew there were some men who did not want him to be Mentor (a much smaller number then those who did) and he did not want to know what would happen to any man who thought that Sawsan was an easily exploitable weakness to hurt Altair. The other man would have no mercy for them.

"Did you see her?" Altair asked.

"Yes, and then I came and got you," Haytham said cheerfully and led them into one of the rooms lining the great court yard. Normally it was where the concubines lived, but now it was empty. Malik didn't doubt that Haytham had shooed them all out. The young man had seen how Altair acted around his cat, because he'd stood outside Altair's door more then once, but it would do no one any good for some women to see the new Mentor react to how Malik was sure he would. As it was Altair had been almost... embarrassing when it was just Sawsan as a kitten. He would be a mess with her litter. Though he knew Altair would act silly, for a man of his status at least, the thought also warmed Malik's heart, to know that such a dangerous man could be reduced to such degrees by such a small creature.

"Here," Haytham said and pointed to a low box that seemed to be where the concubines put their dirty clothes. The younger man looked at Malik as Altair stepped past him and Malik waved him out and the younger man left the room to stand just outside as a guard to make sure they weren't disturbed.

Malik turned back around when he heard Altair make a soft noise. A slight smile crossed Malik's lips as Altair knelt in front of the box and Malik stepped over him to see inside. Sawsan lay on a collection of brightly colored silks and muslin fabrics looking very tired, but pleased as she lay on her side, body stretched out across the fabric exposing her paler belly. Four kittens clutched against her stomach, nursing, fur dry and fluffy. Obviously a bit of time had passed since they'd been born. One was a tabby like her, another two were solid gray and then the fourth was a grey tabby with a large patch of white on its head.

"Oh look at you, my little lily," he heard Altair coo and Malik practically melted. There was something in his voice that just tugged at Malik's chest in a way he never really wanted to admit. He heard Sawsan start to purr and Altair stroked her head and under her chin. Then he looked at Altair and Malik felt a great sense of relief at the look on Altair's face. He was smiling. Malik had not seen Altair smile in a long time, since Jerusalem at least. It was good to see him in a better mood now. This was what Altair had needed. He needed this fresh joy to banish the depression that had cloistered in his heart after Azrael's death.

Malik stood there silently for several moments, watching Altair. He didn't touch the babies, who pushed against Sawsan's belly, pawing at her pale belly with tiny paws, suckling, but ran his fingers over and over again along Sawsan's head and chin and flank. Then, he stepped outside with Haytham, leaving Altair with those he found precious and knowing he was not needed,

"We'll give him some time," Malik told him and Haytham nodded. "Once I can pry him away we'll just move the entire box up to his quarters."

"Of course Dai," Haytham said with a nod.

"Keep the women out, I do not want to deal with the headache of rumors of him being undone by this," Malik sighed. "Other brothers as well. If they come here looking for him send them to me," he instructed. Thankfully Haytham understood Malik's concerns. Though Malik also worried for any man who would try to get in Altair's way right now.

"Where will you be?"

"Well, there is still an Order to run, and our Mentor and currently occupied," he sighed, though had an amused look upon his face. Haytham chuckled. "I'll send Dyari down here as well to keep your company."

"Thank you, Dai."

Malik waved it off, "Fetch me if you need me, I'll be where you found me."

"Of course," Haytham said and Malik left him there and went back into the fortress. He went to one of the standing guards and told him to find Dyari and that he was to meet Haytham in the garden. The guard had nodded and left his post to do as ordered. Malik continued up the stairs to the Mentor's desk his mind abuzz with what he had to do and really how much easier it was to just do the work without holding Altair's hand the entire time. He gladly suffered through the torture of it, but it did not mean he didn't go to bed with a headache more often then not. As it was Altair would always need someone to write for him, for he could not do it well enough himself. Malik thought he should find a novice who was not the best warrior and stick him to the task of learning to decipher Altair's writing so he could rewrite it for others to read as only Malik could do it at any sort of speed. 

Waiting at the desk were two figures, one tense with a stiff set of the shoulders, the other stood with a relaxed stance, hands clasped calmly behind his back. Even at a distance he recognized them both. One was Abbas, bitter and aggressive in everything he did. The other was Rauf, the silent rock who since the coup had become far more withdrawn and less likely to smile. Malik did not blame him. "What can I do for you, brothers?" he asked coming up to them.

"Where is Altair?" Abbas asked, more like demanded.

"Resting," Malik said bluntly. Abbas had been a thorn in Malik's side since the beginning. He didn't like that Malik, an invalid, was turning in Altair's right hand and advisor. He didn't approve. But then Abbas had never liked Altair or Malik at all. He especially did not like Altair after what had happened to his father. Malik had been only slightly better, at least until recently. Now though he was bitter and jealous and seemed to want to set the Order on fire and watch it build into a fire storm. Malik had started to move more carefully around Abbas and planned on having him watched. He was a bad egg and Altair's power base could not afford to be upended by this or any other man. Malik wouldn't allow it.

"I need to speak with the Mentor," he said harshly as if he was about to bite out at someone.

"He is resting," Malik said again firmly.

"I said-

"The Dai said he is resting brother," Rauf said. Thank God for Rauf. He didn't know why the Master Instructor was here, but he was glad he was. For a man who probably should have been in Altair's place he did not harbor any ill will towards the other man and was in fact one of Altair's greatest supporters. It went a long way, for Rauf (unlike Altair had been) was greatly respected and well liked. His support had many other instructors firmly in Altair's camp as well and thus the will of the novices, the next generation. If a schism occurred they would side with Altair and the original Order would be crippled perhaps beyond being salvageable (at least for a long while), for novices were the backbone of their fighting force. Without them to do the leg work and meet with informants and help the journeymen and Assassins plan there were no missions.

Abbas glowered at the Master, who's hands were still behind his back. "Of course," he said tightly. He may have the gall to question Malik while he was alone, but when someone far above his rank yanked at his leash he came to heel like the mongrel he was. 

"Whatever you have to say to the Mentor you can say to me, I'll tell him when he returns," Malik said staring Abbas in the eyes to try and make him understand that Malik was the authority here, not Abbas. It slightly irked him that Abbas would not do the same for him, as Malik was even above rank then Rauf, or any Master. He was Dai, and deserved respect. Even with one arm he was probably still a better fighter then Abbas, who had never attained the status of Master. 

Abbas narrowed his eyes at Malik, "I will see him when he returns," he said in a hard voice before stalking off in his normal disgruntled huff, not even waiting for Malik's dismissal.

Malik turned and kept his eyes on him as he quickly padded down the stairs. "A snake," Rauf said and Malik turned upon him quickly.

"What?"

"We may have to implore the use of a mongoose before too long," Rauf said in such a sturdy voice that Malik almost wouldn't have known he was suffering and in mourning if not for the black scarf he wore around his neck instead of his normal gray that acted as his familiar mask as well. He was surprised it was not up, as he'd been wearing it more then just when he was teaching now. Instead he seemed to wear it like a shield in the same manner Altair hid behind his hood.

"Lets hope we don't come to that," Malik said gravely. Rauf gave a silent admission. "What can I do for you brother?" he asked in a kinder voice then before.

"I came along to make sure Abbas did not upset our Mentor," Rauf said, still looking after where Abbas had gone to.

"Altair can stomach Abbas. What about you Rauf? How do you fare?"

"I live," Rauf said in a strong tone. "Where is Altair though? Is he so weak that he would take a rest in the middle of the day," he frowned slightly.

"He is tending to his lady," Malik said flatly.

"Ah," Rauf said and finally took his hands from behind his back and rested them on his belt. It was better to refer to Sawsan as Altair's lady, it drew less questions, made it seem like he was better. "When will he be back?"

"I don't know," Malik said truthfully. "Perhaps tomorrow," and Rauf seemed surprised. "She is indisposed," was all Malik explained.

"I see. Would it be all right if I went to see him?"

"No," Malik said. "He does not wish to be disturbed."

"I see," Rauf nodded in understanding.

"Is there anything else I can do for you Rauf?"

Rauf looked towards the stairs that Abbas had stormed down not a few minutes ago. "No," he said, "but I know where to find a mongoose," he stared back at Malik with calm eyes. "Good day Dai, tell Altair I wish his lady well," and he bowed leaving once Malik said he could. Once Rauf had gone Malik turned to the Mentor's desk and fell into the chair behind it with a tired sigh as he looked at all the papers spread out before him. So much to do, and now on top of the meeting of the Dais he now had to worry about this new snake. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Altair had to get better. He had to learn and had to do what was required of him, if he did not... Malik did not want to think of such consequences.


	10. Stargazer Lily

The door swung open silently when Malik pushed it open. Jari, who’d been watching the door gave him a silent look, but otherwise said or did nothing. Malik still had the men from Jerusalem playing guard to Altair when he was alone. It wasn’t that he feared Altair would be overcome by someone, if anyone tried to attack Altair he knew they could be butchered. It was more for his peace of mind to know the other man wouldn’t do anything foolish. Since Sawsan had had her litter he’d been surprisingly better, even as far as Malik was expecting. But he was not as he was. Betrayal and grief had cut deeply into Altair’s soul and Malik knew he just needed time.

Time however was what they did not have. The first of the Dais had arrived in Masyaf like a murder of crows. When a runner had found him at the main desk, pouring over ledgers, and told him he’d felt an icy fist grip his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter till he felt he couldn’t breathe. They weren’t ready for this. _Malik_ wasn’t ready for this. He’d been dreading their arrival more then anything in the past few weeks and even more then the worry over Abbas this kept him from sleep. Even the thought of a schism made Malik ill. The Order would not survive such a catastrophe, not without leaving them weak for several generations.

He was surprised when he peered into Altair’s rooms, once Azrael’s rooms, now the new Mentor’s. The main room was most used, with a desk by the window facing the garden and the valley where the Apple sat glittering gold in a small cup so it didn’t roll away. The window facing the training rings had brightly colored rugs beneath it and was stacked high with pillows. He’d found Altair sleeping there more often then his actual bed, which was through one of the doors. But then that did not surprise him in the slightest as the box with Sawsan had been brought and put beneath that window, though out of most of the daily sun. When Malik did not drag him away Altair was there, sometimes dozing, sometimes doing the task Malik had set for him (only in privacy), or sometimes just staring out the window, eyes a thousand miles away. 

The fact that Altair was there was not what surprised Malik. It was the fact that he was not alone. At first he was wary, then he saw who it was and relaxed. “I do not mean to interrupt brothers,” Malik spoke up and they both turned to him, Altair’s intense amber eyes, and Rauf’s calming brown ones staring at him before Rauf looked at Altair.

“Not at all,” Rauf said, “I was just leaving,” and he turned around a moment before getting to his feet. Altair’s eyes followed him and there was something unreadable in them, though Rauf seemed to understand, for he grinned at the young Mentor. Malik didn’t understand what passed between them but Altair had turned away from them both now. “Safety and peace, Dai,” Rauf bowed his head at him as they traded placed, Rauf going through the door and Malik inside. Rauf didn’t even give him the option, he just closed the door behind him.

He went to stand beside Altair on the rug and looked down at the man and the box. They’d changed out the material in it so it was no longer full of concubine clothing, but it was still full of clothes, mostly uniforms beyond repairing. Sawsan was laying on her side, as she often was, while her five (not four, he’d missed the smallest one the first time) kittens either suckled at her stomach or lay curled up against her warmth. It had been a week since they’d been born and already they were tottering around, trying to walk, but the box was still too tall for them to climb out of. “Have you decided on names?” he asked, not wanting to even discuss the reason why he was here until he had to. He sat next to Altair who wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” Altair said.

“Well? Are you going to tell me?” he teased slightly. Altair glanced at him out of the corner of his eye briefly, but said nothing. Malik sighed, “This one,” he reached forward and picked up the dark gray kitten. From above it looked pure gray, but it did have markings, a white muzzle and belly as well as two white socks on his front paws. The kitten easily fit into the palm of his hand and sniffed at his fingers. “What’s it’s name?” he asked Altair.

Altair licked his lips before answering, finally turning to him, “That was why Rauf was here,” he said, “I… wanted to know if he wanted to name one,” he spoke almost shyly, as if expecting to be reprimanded.

“Oh?” Malik’s brows rose, “So did Rauf name this one?” Altair nodded, “What is it’s name?”

“His name is Seif,” Altair said and Malik blinked and looked down at the kitten. 

“A good name,” he proclaimed. “And what about the other ones?”

He seemed more relaxed as Malik put the kitten, Seif, back with his mother. “This is Nadyne,” Altair brushed his fingers against the gray and silver tabby who was lying on Sawsan’s tail, sleeping peacefully. 

Malik nodded, “And her?” he pointed at the smallest kitten who he thought was also the most beautiful. She was an orange and white tabby, though the striping wasn’t very visible and the tip of her tail was white, just like her mother’s. She was secretly his favorite, even though she was the runt.

“That is Adha,” Altair said, watching him and not the kittens. Malik stiffened for barely a second before swallowing. Adha, the lost treasure of a woman. He did not know much about her, but he’d seen the effect she had on Altair. Her loss had affected him similar to this, though not as strongly.

“A name worthy of her beauty,” Malik said, thankfully his voice didn’t crack. Altair smiled faintly. “And what about the other grey one?”

“I… have a name for him but,” he hesitated, “I wanted your permission.”

“My permission?” he asked, though he had a sort of feeling he knew what Altair would ask. Thinking about it made his heart hurt.

“I wanted to name him Kadar,” Altair said, “If you’ll allow.”

Malik stared at Altair for several long seconds. Altair wanted to name one of the kittens after his brother, otherwise there would be no reason for him to ask _permission_ to name the kitten. Altair did what he wanted, obviously. But the fact that he was asking meant he didn’t want to upset Malik, that he valued his opinion. He wouldn’t do something like this without his consent. Malik thought about how he wouldn’t deny Altair anything, because he couldn’t, for Altair was the Mentor, but this… he could deny this. But did he want to?

He plucked the other grey kitten up. This one was a few shades lighter then the darker Seif and had no white stomach or muzzle, though both his front paws were socked in white and a few toes on his left back foot as well, he also had a white tipped tail and blue eyes. No wonder Altair wanted to name him Kadar. He looked at Altair, who was waiting quietly. Then he smiled at the other man and tension he hadn’t realized was there evaporated when he said, “I think it would suit him,” and the kitten bit his thumb, though not very hard, obviously, trying to suckle. But there was nothing there and he mewed, loudly.

Sawsan picked herself up from the box, looking tired, and stepped gracefully over to Malik. She sent him a look as she grabbed Kadar by the scruff of his neck and brought him back with his brothers and sisters. Malik chuckled and wiped his hand on his pants. “What about Sawsan’s little replica?” he asked, meaning the other tabby that was the _spitting_ image of her as a kitten, down to the white tipped tail and the huge yellow eyes that he knew would darken into amber when she got older.

“I have no decided,” Altair admitted. “Nothing seems to fit her,” he sighed and leaned his elbows on his folded knees, face in his hands. With his hood down Malik could have mistaken him for a novice if not for the closely cropped hair that was barely more then stubble. “What do you think?” he asked suddenly, turning to Malik.

“What?” he asked, startled.

“What should her name be?”

“Uh,” he said intelligently, Altair chuckled. They were silent after, both thinking. “Kanwai,” Malik said and Altair looked at him curiously. “If her mother is a lily she should be too,” he explained, silly though it was.

“Kanwai,” Altair said, testing it out. He wondered how long he’d spent coming up with names for the others. Knowing him, probably a good deal of time, as he was with them often. “I like it,” he agreed, “What about you Sawsan?” he asked the cat, and suddenly Malik knew he ceased to even exist. He’d seen it before, when Sawsan was a kitten herself, everything and one ceased to exist around Altair beyond the feline when he spoke to her. Distantly he remembered watching Altair meow at her when she’d gotten into his washing basin. It had seemed so long ago now, though it was only a few months, not even a year at all. 

Sawsan meowed at him and when he scratched under her chin she began to purr loudly. It was sort of like magic, as Malik couldn’t make her react like that, even though she did now sometimes purr when he pet her. She was a very serious cat honestly, except when Altair was around. They were similar like that really, cat and owner being almost mirrors of one another. He smiled fondly at them both. “Yes,” Altair said softly, forgetting Malik was even there for a moment, “I like it too.”

“Altair,” Malik said to draw the man back to him, “I have news,” Altair turned to him.

“By your face it does not look good,” Altair said.

“The Dais have begun to arrive,” he said rather gravely.

Altair’s face became momentarily tight. “I see,” he said once he seemed capable of facial movements again.

“I’ve already seen them to rooms within the fortress,” he continued, “They were tired after their journey,” or rather, Malik told them they were tired. The men who wore the Dai robe were wise and knew where the power sat at the time, they had not argued when Malik had had them escorted to rooms. He knew it would not last though. “You need to speak with them at dinner,” he said.

“I will,” Altair said with a slight bob of his head. “Is there anything else you require of me?” Several thoughts flickered through Malik’s head, some good, most awful, he said none of them. As he mentally shook them from his head he realized they were close, barely two hand’s widths apart, Altair looking at him with those intense amber eyes he had. Malik stared back, wondering what the other man wanted, since clearly he wanted _something,_ or waiting for something.

“No,” Malik said softly unable to stop his eyes from dropping down to Altair’s mouth, they were so close he couldn’t help himself, almost to the point his eyes were crossing. He quickly told himself he was looking at the scar there, but even in his head it was a lie. The other man licked his lips and Malik had to look away. Dear god what was he even thinking?! He had a mad thought, like the one man weeks ago now, of Altair speaking of conspiracy in Jerusalem, and of wanting to grab the other man and pull him into a kiss. But no. He couldn’t. He’d already taken from Altair, he would not take more. His eyes met Altair’s, if only so they were no longer looking at his mouth and saw a slight change in them, almost like a softening.

He quite literally could not stop himself. His head was saying to go, to leave and go deal with the Order, as he had been before coming in here, his body did something the absolute opposite. He leaned in the few inches between them and pressed his lips against Altair’s. There was a near instantaneous reciprocation when Altair kissed him back and Malik felt like he was floating outside of his own body. Then his mind snapped out of what was going on and he roughly pushed Altair away.

“What are— that was— I didn’t—“ he couldn’t even get out a full sentence and stared at Altair in something slightly less then abject horror at what he’d done. Altair had his hand covering his mouth, head tipped down, fingers almost against his lips and Malik felt sick. He lurched to his feet, not even able to make a proper excuse.

He was snagged as he made for the door and he looked behind him and down. The end of his Dai robe was caught by Altair’s hand from the way he gripped it Malik knew that the only way he was getting away would be if Altair let go, or if he shed his robe. Then his eyes moved up and Altair wasn’t looking at him, “Stay,” he said. It was not an order and in fact he didn’t sound like he expected to be obeyed at all and Malik blanched. He’d promised himself that he would not deny Altair anything, as he shouldn’t. But did that include obeying every request? He swallowed. Altair did not seem… angry at least. He took a step back towards Altair, and then another till he was standing beside him and then once again sitting. Only then did Altair let him go.

Altair was not looking at him, but at the box of squirming kittens. Malik swallowed and stared at the man’s profile, not even knowing what to say. Then he realized that Altair was not looking at the cats, but at him, out of the corner of his eye. He only noticed because his hood was down but for some reason it seemed familiar. How often was Altair watching Malik from the corner of his eye, when he thought the Dai couldn’t see?

“I’m sorry,” he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and broke the silence.

Altair turned to him slowly, “I’m not,” he said in a carefully measured voice.

A spike went through Malik and he stared at the other man. At first he had trouble understanding, he literally could not comprehend. Malik had taken from Altair everything he had to give, and yet here he was giving more. It was brutally humbling to know as well as terrifying that Altair would do such a thing _to him_. Malik did nothing but take from the other man, and while he did give back, it would never equal out to be equivalent to what Altair gave. He was caught unaware, too busy with his own turmoil of thoughts, when Altair leaned over and kissed him again, though barely because it turned into something that was barely a brush of the lips before Malik recoiled and actually moved away.

“W-what are you doing?” he demanded and refused to see the hurt in Altair’s eyes. If he did he would feel guilty that he seemingly was doing the wrong thing _again_. Altair opened his mouth but Malik spoke right over him, “Why would you want such a thing? Haven’t you…” his throat closed around the cruelty. He couldn’t say what he would have said. Hadn’t he tormented Malik enough? Hadn’t he done enough to break himself and Malik as well?

Altair just looked confused, he didn’t understand. “I thought you would be pleased,” and Malik wanted to vomit.

“Pleased?” he spat, “Pleased by what? That you prostrate yourself?”

It stuck Altair like a slap, and then his eyes narrowed, “I thought you would be pleased about how I feel,” he snapped right back. Altair swallowed then and Malik just sat there, stunned. This was how Altair _felt_. Not that he felt he had to do something, but because he wanted to, because he had feelings for Malik? He felt ill for an entirely different set of reasons now and knew his face was pale. Was he an idiot? Was he… oh fuck. Malik’s thoughts cannibalized each other and he couldn’t even properly form the thoughts he wanted to make in the wake of Altair’s confession.

“How you feel?” he echoed, his voice unimaginably tight and quiet.

Altair’s searched his face, never lingered on one place long, and avoiding Malik’s eyes before after a second or two landed on them. “Yes,” he said softly. Then he looked down, suddenly shy again, “I have feelings for you, perhaps they are improper. I apologize.”

“You… you idiot!” he suddenly yelled and Altair shrunk back a little, but did not actually move away. Malik pressed his hand to his face. “What is the matter with you?” he looked at Altair over his fingers, “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?” he asked with open confusion and bewilderment painted clearly across his face, as if he couldn’t even fathom doing such a thing. “You’ve done so much for me.”

“And taken everything from you,” and he knew Altair knew what he meant, it was in the way he wouldn’t meet Malik’s gaze. “You should hate me,” he said.

“I do not,” Altair said and caught his lower lips with his teeth, right where the scar sliced into his lip, and looked at Malik’s chest. “Don’t ask me to.”

Malik squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, feeling them sting. Altair’s confession and this entire revelation was overwhelming. He could barely begin to process that Altair felt… the way Malik felt too. He didn’t even have the excuse to deny that to himself. Not any more, not with Altair’s boldness standing before him. He did feel for Altair, more then a brother, more then a friend of a Mentor. When he opened them again Altair was looking at him, it was clear what his decision was, and he was just waiting for Malik. Whatever Malik decided would be the end of it, because in the same way Malik wouldn’t say no to Altair Altair would not push him into something he didn’t want. What an awful trap.

“What am I going to do with you?” Malik asked, voice cracking now and sat back heavily, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t even hold himself upright. He pressed his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze what little stupid moisture there was. When he looked beyond his fingers he saw Altair had edged closer to him. He was still waiting for Malik’s answer. Malik looked at him miserably, wishing the floor would just swallow him whole, “I don’t deserve what you’re giving me,” he said softly.

Altair’s face twisted in confusion a moment, “Why do you say that? You of anyone deserves a measure of peace too,” he said. Altair licked his lips again, hesitating, “You say you took from me,” and it was a knife to the heart, “I took much more from you,” and it took Malik a moment to realize what he was talking about, because he thought they were past this, and the knife twisted. Altair meant his arm, and his brother, both gone, but also his position as a Master, able to stand beside his brothers with pride. Malik blinked several times to clear his eyes, he would not cry. He would not.

“But after what I-

“Shhh,” Altair shushed him gently and Malik let him touch his face. The contact made his skin tingle. “One failure in a longer list of achievements,” Altair said and Malik heard his own words repeated back to him. Altair’s hand twisted to cover Malik’s eyes which were wet, and Malik knew this was for him, so he wouldn’t feel so weak in front of the other man. That just made it worse though and a few drops made it over the edge of his eye lid, but were stopped by the edge of Altair’s finger against his cheek. “I do not blame you for anything, I do not hate you. You deserve measures of happiness too Malik,” and he felt a weight settle across his hips. Altair straddled him and his free hand took Malik’s remaining. “Don’t think you don’t,” and he pressed the back of Malik’s fingers up to his lips and just held them there.

Malik swallowed several times, silently mastering himself, grateful now for the veil of Altair’s hand separating them. They stayed like that, not moving, for a while, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving. Eventually Malik removed his hand from Altair’s and pulled the one covering his eyes away. As he did so he wiped his eyes and knew that Altair pretended not to see. Altair kept his hand on Malik’s face, cupping his jaw gently and Malik held back for only a moment before kissing him.

Like before Altair’s response was near instantaneous and his other hand joined the first in holding his face, like he’d never let go. There was no reservation or hesitation in the way Altair kissed him, as if he’d been waiting so long to do so and every moment he hadn’t been able to hurt him and the intensity of it left him breathless. When they were forced to come up for air it was to the sound of gasps and the desperate feel of Altair’s hands on his face, loathing to let him go. Altair kissed him briefly on the lips lightly as his hands stroked his face. Malik reached up as well to touch Altair’s face. He’d never been this close to the other man, where they practically breathed the same air, eyes barely able to focus on the other they were so close. Malik took hold of the bottom of Altair’s face and ran his thumb over the deep cut on his lips, Altair’s breath hitched just slightly before Malik followed his thumb with his mouth, smoothing it over Altair’s.

Altair’s fingers threaded through his hair, as if it wasn’t messy enough, and when Malik ran his hand down his chest over his clothes he arched into his touch. Malik pushed him back once his hand rested in the center of Altair’s chest, but not away. A bit clumsily Altair leaned back, and Malik followed, till Altair was lying on the rug and half on one of the pillows there. Malik supported himself on his right elbow, which was just fine since he was less interested in touching Altair with his hand as he was with his mouth.

He left Altair’s lips to glide down his jaw and throat. Altair buried his face in Malik’s shoulder, one hand in his hair, the other squeezing his shoulders tightly, as Malik kissed his way down his skin. Beneath him Altair was trembling, but he knew it was not in a bad way. More as though he was trying to hold himself together with Malik touching him, as Malik was having trouble being able to fully grasp that he was allowed, that this wasn’t something he was taking but that Altair wanted to give him. He shifted his weight to his knees to free his arm a bit as he’d run out of skin and pulled at Altair’s loosely held together robe. As he’d been in his room most of the day he hadn’t dressed out in his Assassin’s whites as Malik had, but merely comfortable clothes to lay around in. Now Malik pulled at the familiar red sash he’d used to close his robe up and nosed open his clothing. Altair groaned softly against his ear, fingers kneading his scalp in approval.

The last time he’d even been this close to Altair it had been under entirely different and more horrifying circumstances. This scenario was greatly preferred however since there was no desperate rush, instead Malik could be methodical with his investigation of Altair’s skin and the random patchwork of scars on his body he’d missed and been totally unable to appreciate the last time.

They both groaned in frustration when there was a firm knock on the door. “Master Altair, Dai Malik, Dai Khazin wishes to speak with you,” Jari called through the door.

Malik looked down at Altair, with his robe open obscenely, entire body flush, eyes dilated, one hand holding onto Malik’s dark robe, the other toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Should I send him away?” Malik asked, voice ragged and sounding worn.

“Would we get in trouble if you did?” Altair asked, his own tone no better then his. He shifted a bit beneath him so he was laying more on the pillow.

“I doubt it. What could he do?”

Altair grinned at him lazily, pleased, “Tell him to go away. I’m busy,” he reached up and kissed Malik gently.

Malik had to physically pull himself away, “All right,” and he untangled himself before walking to the door. He opened the door. “Khazin,” Malik said warmly when he saw the older man, his body blocking Khazin from seeing inside. Not that there was much to see, the room was orientated in such a way so that all someone could see from a peek was a near wall with a bookshelf.

“Malik,” Khazin bowed his head slightly. “I was surprised no one came to greet me when I arrived.”

“Ah,” Malik said, even as he was cursing himself mentally. He’d been too distracted. Though he knew that if Khazin had announced himself Jari would have summoned them, as he had now, probably waiting till after he’d settled in. “I apologize,” he said graciously. “Altair and I were discussing matters of the Order.”

“Which would be?” Khazin asked, folding his arms across his chest, looking ready for an explanation.

“Nothing of much import to you,” he said airily, making it sound as though they had been discussing nothing of real importance, to Khazin or anyone else really beyond himself and Altair. “I trust you were seen to your rooms though,” he added.

“Yes, I was,” Khazin admitted, Malik had made sure that several novices were always ready in case the Dai’s came. They were older though, journeymen who would be properly respectful to a Dai.

“Good,” Malik nodded. “Is there anything else you needed? I am very sure your guides told you Altair would address all of you at dinner,” he glanced at Jari and the other Assassin just rolled his eyes. This man was full of hot air.

“Yes well I wanted to-

“Malik are you done yet,” came Altair’s sudden bark. Malik looked around the door at Altair who was still lying on the pillows, though now cushioned by several more, robes still open and Malik had to make himself look away from the man. Though of course he sounded irritated and purposeful, even if his body language showed nothing of the sort. Of course Khazin didn’t know that. As he was turning back to Khazin Altair also called, “Tell the Dai I will speak with him when we are done here,” his voice authoritative, leaving no room for denial. Malik refrained from smiling and secretly thought who knew how long it’d be till they were done.

Khazin now seemed flustered, “Excuse me Dai, the Mentor calls,” and he shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do’. “If you need anything do not hesitate to tell your guide,” who he saw a few feet away now. He’d also instructed them to not leave the Dais alone. Some of them might be old men, but they were still plenty crafty. He was glad to see his instructions were being obeyed.

“Y-yes, of course,” Khazin said and he knew that like most he was intimidated by Altair, even if it was just his voice, especially when he wanted to step into his roll as Mentor and push his weight around. The journeyman stepped up to get Khazin’s attention and subtly led him away.

He sighed once he was gone, “Next time,” Malik told Jari, “Unless it is something important do not bother us. I can’t spend every moment playing handmaid to a Dai.”

“He was very insistent Malik, I apologize for interrupting your discussion,” Jari said sincerely. Yes, _discussion_. “I will be more firm if it happens again,” he added. Malik just nodded and closed the door.

He went back over to Altair, who’s entire body looked supple and inviting propped up against the pillows under the window. Malik sank down to his knees between the other man’s legs and was immediately pulled into a kiss. Altair’s hands tugged at his robes, silently asking for their removal even as Malik grasped at Altair’s bare skin on his chest and stomach and with only a bit more difficulty then necessary he was shrugging off his dark Dai’s robe. Under was his sleeveless tunic and his left arm for anyone who looked to see, carefully wrapped lightly in cloth, even now, to protect it in case he bumped it (which he did rather often month ago before he grew used to it). Altair’s eyes went strait to it, as they never had before, but there was not sympathy in his eyes like others’ had shown him, or pity (he probably knew better then to pity Malik). Instead all he saw was pain, as if it physically hurt him to see Malik like this.

Malik leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Altair’s. “I’m sorry habibi,” Altair said softly and Malik almost hated he couldn’t hate this man, or be mad at him.

“It is my fault as it is yours,” Malik said and reached across his chest to grab the remaining stump of his arm. “I am sorry too,” and Altair wrapped his arms around him and Malik seemed to sink into the other man, accepting his warmth and affections. Their lips met and Malik lost track of time until Jari was knocking on the door again: it was time for dinner.


	11. Paper Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for slightly boring Order politics and lots of old men arguing /shot

Light washed in through the windows in the room. The bedroom window faced the rising sun, so it got the coolest light during the summer, and the earliest light in the winter. Something jostled in Malik’s brain. His windows were not orientated like that. His two windows faced north, not east and west. He opened his eyes with a bit of a start and sat up quickly after. Disorientated it took him a moment to figure out and remember where he was and very quickly after he picked out pieces of Altair’s room.

Oh right.

How could he forget that? He’d gone to bed late the night before, too nervous to sleep, to stressed to let himself even sit down and he’d paced back and forth in Altair’s main room even as the candles had burned low. Altair had only made him lay down when it was clear he was only hurting himself with his stress. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep, by accident mind you, in Altair’s room, though it was usually on the pillows with the cats, and never at that time, instead usually during the day when he couldn’t keep himself going a second later and while he’d had every intention of doing his work with Altair in some sort of relaxation, he fell asleep. This was the first time he’d woken up in the other man’s bed though.

Some dumb voice in the back of his head said he wouldn’t mind doing it more often.

He looked down, the other man was still sleeping, head buried in his down pillow, lips slightly parted. Malik smiled slightly, how did such a deadly man look like a babe in his sleep? It didn’t help that he was half curled up against the warm area of the bed Malik was occupying. He rubbed his jaw and chin tiredly.

He started when there was a loud knocking, not from the main door, but from the bedroom door itself. That meant it was… Ehan. Yes, Ehan had morning watch. “Master Altair,” he was confirmed a moment later when Ehan’s voice split the air. “Dai Malik is missing,” he called.

Oh.

All the warmth drained out of Malik’s body and he suddenly felt very limp, almost falling back onto the pillows. Oh right. Now he remembered why he’d been such a mess last night. Today the Dais were meeting, as all but Tamir of Arsuf had arrived. The fate of the Order would be decided _today_. He looked down at the sleeping man again, who was stirring a bit, grumbling.

“Master Altair,” Ehan called again.

“I’m awake, go away, he isn’t dead!” Altair suddenly yelled, not opening his eyes. There was no more knocking or calling from Ehan. “You’re far more trouble then you’re worth, Malik,” Altair opened one amber eye tiredly and looked at him near reproachfully.

“Apologies,” Malik bit back sarcastically.

With a groan Altair stretched out and rolled onto his back. He wasn’t wearing a shirt in the warm morning of late spring and Malik watched him throw his hands above his head and stretch, reminding him of a cat, his back arching up off the bed. Malik licked his lips as he stared, physically unable to look away. Altair groaned as he did so before thumping back onto the mattress. “Today is a big day. Did you sleep?” he asked with a slight yawn.

“Somehow,” Malik said with a shrug.

“I trust you,” Altair said simply, face open, expressive in his recent waking. Malik felt warmth blossom in his chest at being able to see Altair’s naked expression, unobstructed by hood or mask or coldness. “You know what should be done.”

“It will not be easy,” Malik said.

“You’ve yet to let me down,” Altair said pushing himself up. “I don’t think you’ll start now,” and he gave the sleeve of Malik’s robe, which he hadn’t removed the night before (he’d been so exhausted he’d barely been able to remove his effects), a tentative tug, what he wanted clear on his face. Malik leaned over, closing the few inches between them, and kissed him. This was how it had been. Altair would ask, and Malik would either ignore him or not. He had a very… hard time ignoring Altair’s request though, not since after that first day and in a truly amazing retrospect realized that Malik had been missing the same cue for— weeks really. It was sort of embarrassing.

“Uck, you taste like morning,” Malik said, pushing him back.

Altair smirked at him, “And you taste like dog,” Malik shoved him back onto the mattress but himself swung his legs over to stand up. The stone floor was still cool from the night, even through the rug, which was a bit threadbare.

“The meeting is after breakfast,” Malik said, adjusting his clothing and trying to come up with some excuse as to what he was doing in Altair’s room and why Ehan hadn’t seen him. There was a second room though, that could work. He glanced back at Altair as he said, “Can you behaaaa-

“What?” Altair asked simply, he was propped up on some pillows, bare chested, the blanket low on his hips, his pants just as low and oh God this was not good for Malik’s train of thought. “Malik?” Altair’s voice made his eyes snap up from the other man’s groin to his face.

Malik cleared his throat, trying to act unaffected. Not very easy when Altair was lying around half naked and looked like he could easily become fully so. “Can you manage while I’m at the meeting?”

“Munahid or Rauf will help me,” Altair shrugged.

“Good,” Malik nodded, his head on strait again and he was stubbornly not thinking about wanting to see Altair naked. Nope. Of course not. He tore his eyes away and focused on putting on his boots. Once he was properly dressed he looked back at Altair, who not not moved except to perhaps lay more fully across the bed. Malik scowled at him. “You need to get out of bed, novice,” he said, with just a touch of heat.

“I am the Mentor, I can do what I want,” Altair’s lips quirked challengingly at him.

“Yes, a loud mouthed, ogre handed, camel brained novice of a Mentor,” Malik said rolling his eyes.

“Before I would have found that offensive,” Altair said with a shrug.

“And what now you don’t?”

Altair’s lips twitched, he was about to have a go at Malik. He braced himself, “No, as I know how much you actually enjoy this loud mouth and ogre hands,” he teased and while Malik turned bright red, Altair at least flushed a bit himself.

Malik opened his mouth, hand raised, then dropped it and closed his mouth. “I have more things to worry about then you right now,” he huffed and pulled sharply on his robe.

“Mmm,” Altair said. “I’ll see you later,” but Malik didn’t reply, he was already opening the bedroom door, an excuse for Ehan forming, so he missed the intense look on Altair’s face.

—

The meeting was long. There was more to discuss then just the succession of the Mentor, as with a new Mentor came new stations to be made and filled. There was also discussion about what had happened with Azrael and how to prevent such a thing from happening again. There was also talk of the threshing, or so the local towns called it when all the towns around the mountain who benefitted from the Assassins watching over them, had to play host to a brother, sometimes a Dai, more often a Master Instructor, who would select one or two boys to be trained at Masyaf. It happened every two and three years, some villages with a two year interval, some with a three, and they changed all the time. The two year interval was approaching, so there were new novices to think of.

There was also the Templars and the Crusaders and the Saracens and Saladin and all manner of other things. It was like they were dancing around the topic of the succession and by the time novices brought them platters of food for lunch his head was swimming and felt like it was stuffed with cotton. There was just _so much_. And some topics were being put on hold till the next day. This was not just for the new Mentor, this was truly a meeting of the Dais.

Next to him Zaki gave him a sympathetic look as he dipped some crusty bread into some oil and spices. “Quite a lot to take in isn’t it?” asked the old Dai of Acre. Malik turned to him abruptly, mouth in the process of taking a bite. Zaki chuckled, “It is like this when new Dais sit in on their first meeting, you can always tell they’re in over their head,” he said and gently patted Malik’s arm.

Malik chewed and swallowed quickly, “I thought there were more pressing matters to discuss then this,” he confessed in a soft voice.

Zaki grinned at him, showing yellowed teeth that were slightly crooked. “No one wants to bring it up,” he said, just as quietly. “Azrael was a friend to many of us, he was my roommate for a while before he became a Master,” he shrugged. Malik blinked, surprised, he didn’t know that. “We know the topic is… delicate. Also none of these old fools want to be the first to break the water,” and Malik glanced around. In truth he really was one of the youngest men at the table, along with Faruq of Damascus and Kabli of Tyrus. All the rest were old men with either salt beards, or more salt then pepper. Three young men among almost a dozen. Malik swallowed. And these were just the Dais from Syria, not even those from the neighboring countries and kingdoms where they had men.

“And what about you?” he asked, turning back to the old Dai.

“I think they’re all show birds,” he said with something that _could_ have been a sneer. He wasn’t quite sure though since Zaki was a very fair man and did not usually feel too strongly one way or another about things.

Eventually lunch was taken away by some novices and cups were refilled with water or fruit juice and they settled down to discuss more things on their long list of things to discuss. None of which seemed to be the Mentor’s succession.

Malik stopped listening at some point. They were talking about news from Persia and Malik couldn’t find it in himself to care right now. There was a reason Persia had it’s own Dais and it was not to burden those of the Syrian kingdom. The Dais in each kingdom created a council or sorts, and if the Mentor was not in or visiting at the time they made the decisions. Though usually, if required, they sent a pigeon to Masyaf for the Mentor’s final verdict if a decision could not be reached. One had flown in from Arabia since Azrael had died. He’d had to reply that there was no Mentor at the moment and to try and work it out themselves. That had been a month ago.

He didn’t realize he’d groaned aloud when they started talking about _Arabia_ until after he’d done it. Every head turned towards him, eyes fixed to him. He thought he should feel flustered, he didn’t. “Did you have something you wanted to say Malik?” Jawad of Qamishli, the oldest Dai and the unofficial leader of the Dais (or at the very least was leading the discussion and sitting at the head of the table) said.

Malik sat up strait in his chair, “Yes,” he said. “Arabia is not our problem.”

“Now boy, our Arabian brothers-

“Are fully capable of taking care of themselves,” he cut Khalam of Daraa off and the man looked insulted. “They are Dais just as we are. A new bird has not come from them since only a few days after I arrived here myself. That has almost been five weeks, long enough for our reply to get there, and for them to send another.”

“You answered a bird from a Dai counsel?” Khalam sounded near scandalized, “That is not your duty.”

“I told them that there was no Mentor and that they needed to try to resolve the issue themselves, unless it would not wait. Which, is the real reason why you all are here in the first place. Not to butt into the affairs of our brothers who have a far better grasp on their own situation then we do here at this table, and yet we’re trying to discuss a plan of action as if it makes any difference,” he sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“These are important matters Malik-

“As is the succession of the Mentor,” he snapped, “Something all of you seem to be quite content to act as though we can ignore,” he stared them all down. Not one of them could return his gaze for more then a few seconds. “ _That_ is far more important then these trivial affairs of our brothers in a country weeks travel away. Azrael has been dead for six weeks. Six weeks and our Order is _still_ headless and since this meeting began, a meeting called to appoint a _new_ Mentor, we have not discussed it in the slightest,” and then he sat back in his chair. “That is all I have to say on this matter of _Arabia_ ,” he kept as much sarcasm out of his voice as possible.

No one spoke for a moment, clearly these old men were not used to being spoken to like this. “I feel I must agree,” Zaki finally said next to him and leaned forward. “Azrael is dead my brothers. Our Order needs a head, trying to skirt the problem will not make it go away. I know some of you were friends with Azrael, I myself was, but I agree with young Malik here,” Malik refrained from scowling at the modifier of _young_ , as that made him any less competent then these older men. “We need to talk about more pressing matters then the threshing, or inter-kingdom politics.”

Jawad sighed, “Yes, I suppose you are right Zaki,” he said with a nod, Malik realized he’d been mostly ignored. If not for Zaki speaking up his entire statement would have been ignored. He ground his teeth and checked his face from showing emotion. He wished he could do as Altair did and keep it blank, but something must have shown, because Faruq smirked at him. Not a mean smirk, but almost like a tease, as if he knew exactly what was going on inside Malik’s head. “Who are our current candidates?”

Raid of Latakia, another old man near as wizen as Jawad with a long white beard, unrolled a scroll of paper. “There are four current candidates,” he said. “Rauf al-Naib, Aaban Munir, Husam al-Ghazawan ibn-Ala, and Diya al Din al-Fadi,” and then he rolled up the scroll.

“You must be joking,” Malik leaned forward again, hands braced against the edge of the table.

“These are the men Azrael himself wished to succeed him when his time-

“I don’t give a shit what that dog Azrael wanted,” Malik snapped. “Have you all _lost your minds_?” he demanded. Most of the older men looked deeply offended. Faruq and Kabli looked at Malik expectantly and next to him he felt Zaki eyeing him with perhaps something akin to satisfaction. “Rauf has no desire for the position, not since his brother’s death. Husam is dead,” that was a shock to many of them, “and Diya al Din has been missing since his mission to Tarsus,” he looked pointedly at Fadi.

“Well, why weren’t we informed?” Jawad asked.

“Did you ask?” Malik asked right back.

Jawad did not answer that question, “If Husam and Diya al Din are both indisposed then there are simply two candidates-

“Three,” Faruq suddenly put in. “There are three candidates.”

“Three?” Jawad didn’t look like he understood.

“Altair al-Umar ibn-la’Ahad, he is a candidate,” Faruq said.

“He was not chosen-

“He was chosen by the Order,” Malik said firmly.

“That does not-

“Are you listening to a word that comes out of your mouth Jawad?” Malik suddenly demanded. “I would like to pass a motion to replace Jawad as leader of this discussion with someone else,” he added quickly.

“I second such motion,” Kabli said boredly. “I do not wish to waste my youth listening to this old man running long winded meetings each year.”

Jawad looked _furious_ now, “Now see here Malik you can’t just do as you please.”

“I am your equal, I have every right, especially if I feel that your agenda does not coincide with the agenda of the Order. I have been here for six weeks Jawad, while you have been in Qamishli which, I might point out, is very far removed from the more transversed part of our kingdom. You oversee a greater area with your rafiqs, but you seem to be quite out of touch with what the Order needs or wants.”

“And you do?”

“As I have been _running_ the Order for the past six weeks with the help of the Mentor apparent and one of your candidates; yes, I do.”

“I motion for Malik to replace Jawad as leader of this meeting,” Faruq said.

“Now wait a moment young men,” Qais of Homs suddenly spoke up. “This is not how things are done.”

“Why not?” Faruq asked, “Soon you will all be dead and I, Malik and Kabli will remain. Why should we not steer the meeting and the Order?” he questioned.

“No one will agree with your motion young man,” Qais said hotly.

“Actually,” Zaki spoke up. “I will.”

“As will I,” Abyan of Hama said, sitting on Zaki’s other side. “I agree with Malik. You are out of touch with the Order Jawad. Even if just this once, I feel that someone who understands the true situation we are facing should lead this discussion of succession.”

“All those in favor of Jawad to be replaced by Malik as leader of this table, please raise your hand,” Zaki said even as Jawad floundered and tried to find his voice. Not counting Malik or Jawad there were ten other Dais, Malik needed six or more votes to oust Jawad. Seven hands rose. Malik refrained from smiling. “The motion is passed,” Zaki said, “Jawad please change seats with Malik,” and Malik stood up, standing to his full, proud height.

Jawad was not pleased, but he was a stickler for the rules, and he had been voted out of his position. He slowly got from his chair, not to burn Malik, but because he was old. Malik was polite though and helped Jawad into his previous seat before going to the head of the table and sitting in it. There was no difference from his old chair and his new one other then placement.

He felt the rest of the Dais now looking at him. He swallowed and calmed himself. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. “There is one candidate for the succession of Mentorship,” he said, “And that is Altair-

“He isn’t worthy-

“You be quiet old man!” Malik suddenly yelled, his voice jamming right down Rabi of Aleppo’s throat. “This is the man who killed Azrael, and any of you who have minds in your heads and hearts in your chest know what that means. He single handedly crippled the Templar Order and walked through _two_ armies to kill Robert de Sable in front of Richard Lionheart. He then returned to Masyaf and freed all of our brothers. Do not speak to me of _worthy_ ,” and no one interrupted him and his main supporters, Faruq, Kabli and Zaki looked greatly amused. Faruq and Zaki of course knew well of Altair’s actions and all the rest of the Dais had only heard tales of Altair’s accomplishments in the past year, doing more in a year then most Assassins did in their entire lives.

Malik took a deep breathe, “The situation is very grave,” he said in a much more reserved tone. “You wish for more candidates, I can tell you that there are _no other_ candidates. The Order will accept no other man to lead then then Altair. He is their savior, he is _all_ of our saviors. If you try to appoint another in his stead, Rauf or Aaban, for one you will never get them to agree, or if you by some luck do, you are asking for a schism.”

“You greatly exaggerate the effect of one man Malik,” Fadi said. “Altair is not a good choice. He has no training. He is a hunting hawk, he is not a leader. Azrael-

“Stop bringing him up,” Malik said sternly. “The next man who brings up that man as though his wishes hold any standing in this meeting will be ignored and their words stricken from the record.”

Fadi puffed out his cheeks a moment, “The previous Mentor,” he said with narrowed eyes, Malik let it pass, “selected men who could handle the situation of being the Mentor. Altair is a warrior and cares nothing for the Order, only for himself.”

“I would have to disagree, Fadi,” Faruq said, leaning back easily in his chair, fingers steepled. “I have seen Altair grow this past year. The man you saw in Tarsus two years ago is gone. He is perhaps not as devote to the Creed as you are, but I feel he understands it much better then you,” he gave Fadi an easy smile, showing there was no bad blood between the two. “Zaki, myself and Malik have been the ones to see Altair’s progress this year, along with Az- the former Mentor,” he caught himself and Malik refrained from smiling.

“That does not discount that he is not a leader,” Qais said, “He is a warrior. I know we all know the stories of that man. Even our own brothers call him a demon given human flesh and form. The former Mentor could not control him, what makes you think he can control the Order. He will turn out _worse_ then his predecessor.”

“Agreed. The old Mentor told me personally that Altair was perhaps the greatest man who had ever trained as Masyaf. But that is all he is, he is a great man with a sword. The Order does not need that sort of men at the head of it. A Mentor must be wise, he must be compassionate, and he must be smart,” Raid said and Malik felt his cheek twitch. It was no secret that Altair appeared stupid to most. He could not write well, he did not read well, and even math figures had come slowly to him as a novice.

“Well I for one would be more then happy to have the savior of Masyaf as my Mentor,” Kabli said easily. “A Mentor should also inspire awe and devotion in his men. I walked the halls while I was here since I arrived. I was amazed at what I heard. I have not heard the men in such good spirits in some years, but then, I am still young, perhaps one of you could enlighten me to the last time our novices felt safe enough to air their concerns to their betters without fear of being beaten?”

There was a stony silence around the table, Kabli said nothing more, merely gave a little shrug as if to say, ‘that is all I will say’ and then folded his hands across his stomach.

“But what about the other candidates?” Rabi asked. “Until recently there was a great deal of discontent for Altair. If we appoint him Mentor then who is to say it won’t return-

“It is already here,” Malik interrupted. “Abbas Sofian is displeased with the Order as it is.”

“But Abbas has never liked Altair,” Faruq said quickly, “Not since his father died,” and there was a heavy silence. “He is one bad egg.”

“A bad egg with friends,” Malik said. “I am surprised he has petitioned for the Mentorship himself.”

“He is even less worthy then Altair,” Rabi said hotly.

“But he has been given time to fester since the coup. He is not idle brothers. If we don’t elect the right person to the mantle of Mentor, and _today_ it is a matter of time for the Order to fall apart,” Malik said.

“And that man is Altair?” Qais scoffed.

“Because if it isn’t, and if Altair is not made Mentor the Order will not be pleased. If our brothers are displeased _there will_ be a schism between those loyal to Altair, and those loyal to whoever you decide to elect in his stead. I can tell you now, if Altair and his supporters left Masyaf those who remained would be crippled. Nearly all the instructors back him, including a man you wish to elect, Rauf, as well as many of the Masters and a slightly less then majority of the regular Assassins. If the instructors leave they will take their students with them because they are not loyal to Masyaf, they were loyal to their masters, and those men are not the ones sitting at this table with me,” Malik tapped the table with his forefinger to make a point.

“We could just-

“If you try to appoint Rauf he will decline,” Malik did not let Qais speak. “If you _force_ him to take up the mantle he will not be pleased. He killed his own brother during the coup, his own flesh and blood brother,” there was shock around the table. “Forcing him will not endear you to him. You know as well as I that a Dai’s position hangs at the Mentor’s prerogative. Those that make him do as he doesn’t wish will see a very different side to our cheerful friend, as it seems you forget that Rauf has a very sharp bite. I can guarantee that those who elect him into it will not leave Masyaf a Dai. While our brothers may follow him, they will know he doesn’t want it, he’s made his stance public and has been seen helping Altair with his work. You will not endear yourselves to the rest of the Order if you do that either, since as I believe some of you have said, Rauf is well liked and knows what he’s doing.

“Aaban is worse. Worse because the men will _not_ follow him. He is also older and will not spend long at the post. Everyone also knows that Aaban was close to Azrael before he was killed. He will meet nothing but resistance if he was made Mentor. We can’t afford resistance with a mold eating at us from within. He is also a scholar,” Malik paused here, “no one will follow the whims of a scholar. For what does a scholar know of death and battle?” no one answered him. “Your other two candidates are dead, and the ones you have left are awful.”

“Altair still doesn’t know how to be Mentor,” Jawad finally spoke up.

“Then he will learn.”

“And who will teach him?” Khazin of Douma demanded.

“He is learning already.”

“And who will control him?” everyone’s head turned down to Abyan, who had not spoken since he’d seconded the motion. “You say Altair is a changed man. Changed man or not, he is still a force of nature. We all know Altair can have a temper. We all know Altair can be rash and charge into things without thinking. If we give Altair this position who will control the controller?” and several heads turned back to Malik.

“You act as though he’s some sort of animal,” Malik said, keeping the deep offense out of his voice.

“I am not-

“You can’t go in there-

“Please sir they’re in a meeting-

Everyone turned to the door which was suddenly thrown open. He saw several Assassins trying without success to pull Altair out of the room. Malik felt all the blood drain from his face. What was Altair doing? WHAT WAS ALTAIR DOING?! He was going to ruin this! Altair however seemed to not notice the other men and shrugged and ducked from their hands. “What is the meaning of this?” Jawad demanded.

“Which one of you old bastards has it?” Altair asked, voice dark as black water, and laced with danger and violence. No. No no no no nonononono.

“Has what?” Qais asked and then seemed to shrink a little when Altair suddenly turned his intense amber eyes upon him, his mere gaze silencing him.

“My Apple. Where. Is. It?” he turned away from Qais and looked at each Dai in turn. The Apple? The Apple was gone? Oh dear god. As if this day couldn’t be any worse! And Altair thought one of the Dais had it. Malik knew he should be saying something, or doing something, but he was frozen in his chair, mouth glued shut. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, all he could do was stare at Altair in horror as he watched it all fall to pieces.

“Your what?” Fadi asked.

“My Apple, the Apple. The treasure of Solomon’s temple that Azrael would use to enslave us. One of you has it.”

“You’re mad,” Fadi said pompously and sent the others a look as if to say ‘I told you’.

“No. Azrael was mad,” Altair said slowly. “I am very much not. I know one of you old men have it, because you’re all greedy for power, just like him,” and there was some uncomfortable shifting around the table. “Now tell me, which one of you has it!” he demanded and slammed his hands down on the other end of the table, looking each one in the eye, all except Malik. He thought he saw Altair’s eyes flash, brighten. “You,” he looked strait at Rabi, three seats to Malik’s left.

“What? No I don’t,” he said furiously. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Return the Apple to me. It isn’t for the likes of you.”

“And what gives you the right to it?” Rabi asked, condemning himself with the accusation.

“I killed my father for it,” Altair said in an amazingly somber tone. A few of the Dais lowered their eyes. Altair slid his hands off the table and walked slowly over to Rabi’s chair and yanked it back. Some part of Malik’s brain said something was wrong. Where were the other Assassins who’d been trying to hold him back earlier? What was going on?

“Altair!” Malik suddenly roared and jumped to his feet, face red with fury as the other man appeared to be patting down the old Dai. The other man froze and turned to him. “What do you think you are doing? This is a meeting of the Dais, and no brother, Mentor, Master, or otherwise, are privy to the goings-on until we adjourn,” he was so furious. Altair was ruining everything Malik had been trying to do this meeting, had in the last two minutes unraveled any good will he’d managed to garner for him.

“He has stolen the Apple,” Altair said simply, as if he had every right to be here. Malik wanted to _slap him_ as hard as he possibly could. He swore when this was over he was going to beat the other man for doing this. Stupid, selfish, idiotic, obnoxious, pig headed novice!

“Rabi,” he snapped at the Dai, “Do you have the Apple?”

“What? No, of course not-

“He’s lying,” Altair said, not taking his eyes from Malik.

Malik stared at Altair, then at Rabi, “Stealing from your brother is a punishable offense Rabi,” he said sternly. “You two,” he barked at the Assassins who suddenly appeared at the door, “Search the Dai,” and Altair stepped back for them to do just that.

They appropriated the golden globe. Now Malik’s rage turned to Rabi. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done you old fool?” he demanded. “You are no better then Azrael for this. He lusted for the Apple and it’s power. Do you know what his punishment was?” Malik barely waited for an answer, “It was his death!” he turned to the two Assassins. “Give me the Apple and take him to his room.”

“What?” Rabi seemed confused now. “Malik you can’t-

“You have broken the rules and laws of our Order brother,” Malik said harshly as the Assassins handed him the Apple. He dropped it into a pocket to have full use of his remaining hand. “And you have brought a dangerous weapon into a room with your peers. That is another dark mark against you. As well as your desire to use the Apple for whatever selfish whims you have. Whoever the next Mentor is I will be sure to inform them that you are not fit to be Dai any longer,” and then he sat, body trembling as the Assassins led the old man out of the door. Now there was an empty seat and Altair was still standing there. The Dais looked at the man in the white robes, he was looking at Malik. “Get out,” he growled.

“I came for my Apple,” Altair said.

“I will deal with you and the Apple when I am done here. Now. Get out,” the threat was thick on his voice. Altair waited only a second before turning and leaving. As he did Malik thought he looked… pleased? Why in the world would he look pleased? He’d just _ruined_ his chance to be Mentor!

There was a long silence after the door closed and they were alone again. Malik didn’t even know how to do damage control from this incident, or even where to go from here. “Well,” Kabli said suddenly. “I think that’s your answer Abyan,” though he was looking at Malik. “Personally I think Altair would make a good Mentor. The men love him, though I do agree that he is a bit… wild,” he said the word lightly. “He needs someone to guide him, and perhaps, hold onto his leash,” his eyes danced. “I think Malik is a fine candidate.”

“So what you propose is, two Mentors?” Zaki suddenly asked.

“Perhaps not two,” Kabli said delicatly, “for there is only one Mentor. Malik is right, Altair is our only choice, because I love this Order and I can see that if we do not do as the Order wants, we will only be harming ourselves. But some of you are right as well. Altair was not trained for this, he does not have the skills. However, as we all can agree, and Mentor must be strong and wise, as well as evoke loyalty in his men. I’ve spoken with some of the men, a few have declared that they would be willing to die for Altair. As it is they already call him Master, and nothing _we_ say will change that for them. But he does not have the discipline, or control, or the know how to be a Mentor. I’m sure he will learn. After all, we all had to learn to be Dais, did we not? I believe that Khazin, did you not get sent to Douma after the last bureau had been raised to the ground and all those before you slain?”

“Yes,” Khazin said sadly.

“You had no previous experience, and had to learn as you went. I see nothing wrong with this. Altair will do the same.”

“There is still a matter of him being wild, and hard to control,” Qais said.

“Are you blind Qais?” Faruq asked. “Or are you simply preferring to ignore what Malik just did? I know your eyesight is not _that_ bad,” and Qais blushed a little. “Altair listens to Malik, obviously. He can control him until he can control himself.”

“And Malik will be able to help Altair with the other things,” Kabli said. “He is already do that anyway, they have been for six weeks now and the Order has not been thrown into chaos. Right?” he turned to Malik who felt himself nod woodenly but was honestly feeling too stunned to do much else, even speak. “He will be Altair’s shadow until Altair can do it himself.”

“And really, you all do not give the young man enough credit,” Zaki said. “Altair may be a bit rough, but I’ve never known him to be stupid-

“Perhaps a bit too stubborn to accept new knowledge,” Faruq put in, “But I couldn’t say he is stupid. He spent the last year doing all his own leg work and assassinations. Only the most stupid of novices are not allowed to do leg work.”

“Are there any rebukes?” Zaki asked. “I motion for Altair to be made Mentor, with Malik as his shadow and second in command.”

“I second this motion,” Kabli said.

“All in favor of this motion, raise you-

“What about Rabi?” Khazin asked.

“What about him?” Zaki asked back.

“Does his vote not count?”

“Rabi is no longer here,” Abyan said. “Tamir’s vote, sadly, will not count either. It is how it goes,” he shrugged.

“Now,” Zaki said, clearing his throat, “All in favor of this motion, raise your hand.” Zaki, Faruq, Kabli and Abyan rose their hands. But this was not a majority vote. Malik raised his own hand as well, though he knew it was not enough. There were eleven men still in the room, and eight votes, three-fourths, were required to pass this motion. Three votes were still needed.

Slowly Khazin rose his hand as well. He was followed a moment later by Khalam. Seven votes in favor. No one moved for a moment and then, to Malik’s great relief, Fadi rose his hand as well. Only Qais, Raid and Jawad did not raise their hands.

“The motion is passed,” Zaki said.

Oh thank god. Malik suddenly wanted to weep in relief. Instead he sat up a bit straiter, “We will recess for an hour. Collect ourselves and handle any bodily needs. Your escorts will get you anything you desire. When we re-adjourn we will discuss the remaining topics of the day,” and he rose to his feet, his legs felt both wooden and gelatinous at the same time. The other Dais rose as well, no one complained about the break, in fact, many seemed thankful for it. They filed out of the room and Malik left last.

—

He found Altair in his room, unsurprisingly. He had week old Adha on his chest. “You,” Malik growled when he saw the man.

“Ah, Malik,” Altair sat up and put the kitten back with her mother and siblings, he smiled cheerfully at Malik.

Malik’s hand balled into a fist, but he didn’t let the punch fly. “What did you think-

“Am I Mentor?” Altair asked, interrupting, almost expectantly.

“What—?”

“Am I Mentor””

Malik blinked at him, “… Yes,” he said.

Altair got to his feet gracefully, “Then what is there to be angry about?”

Malik stared at Altair and then it clicked. “You did it on purpose,” he said.

“Of course I did,” Altair said with an effortless shrug. “I knew when the topic finally came up my personality and apparent lack of discipline would be brought up.”

“You didn’t even want to be Mentor,” Malik said, feeling like he was grasping at straws.

“I don’t,” he agreed, “But… you wanted me to be, because I need to be,” he frowned. “If they thought I was a demon who couldn’t be controlled, I needed to show them otherwise.”

“I… can’t believe you,” Malik stared at him.

“What can’t you believe?”

“Did you plant the Apple on Rabi?”

“No. I left it out on my desk and went to get something to eat this morning when I knew you’d be passing by. One of them took it, a guard told me, though I didn’t know which one. They did exactly what I wanted them to do, and I got to see who was loyal as well as show them that we work well together.”

“That was—

“Was?”

Malik suddenly laughed, “We had an argument, after you left, about your intelligence. But that was brilliant!”

Altair smiled, “I’m glad you approve,” he said, almost humble.

“I was planning on coming in here and beating your stupid for your play when I thought you’d ruined your chance.”

“But now?” Altair asked carefully.

Malik grabbed him by the front of his robes, “I think your elected baby sitter should reward such a display of cunning,” he said with a delighted smirk. Altair flushed deeply, Malik kissed him. He had an hour to kill still and the stress of Altair not becoming Mentor had slid off his shoulders. He felt more relieved then he had in weeks.

“I’m listening,” Altair said when they came up for air, his amber eyes danced with delight, wondering what Malik was going to do. Neither of them would be disappointed as Malik dragged Altair into the Mentor’s bedroom by the front of his robes.


	12. Pygmy Lily

The three novices sitting before him looked slightly uncomfortable. Malik didn’t blame them. They were nervous. Each one of them was picked because their skills were not on par to be a warrior, and they knew this. Normally this was not a bad thing, they then got shuffled into the track of a scholar or a rafiq since battle was not their forte. The Order took all kinds, the smart, the strong, the cunning, the agile, and all the rest, so long as they appeared to have a use to the Order. These three boys, each no more then sixteen or so, barely able to grow their own mustaches, would end their warrior training this year and begin their training elsewhere in figures or letters or any other thing the Order required of them. Or they would have if they were not sitting here before Malik. They all thought they were in trouble, why else would the right hand call them aside privately if they weren’t in trouble. Malik smiled privately at the thought.

“There is no need to look so worried,” he told them gently. He’d chosen the library for this purpose, as the three boys were all very familiar with it and they were comfortable here. He didn’t want to stress them out more then they probably were. “You aren’t in trouble.”

“Then what are we doing here, sir?” asked one of them and it took a moment for Malik to put a name to him again; Raafe.

“I am in need of a special novice who can handle a great deal of responsibility, yet one with a clear mind, unburdened by worries of current training. Your masters have informed me you are some of their brightest students, if not with the sword then with your words,” the boys were pleased by this and looked more relaxed. Good. “But I only need one.”

“So it’s like a test?” the one on the right asked, Jarib, a boy with eyes that were almost green.

“In a sense, yes,” Malik nodded. “The first phase is this,” he handed each of them a sheet of paper, they stared at it, and then him in confusion. On the paper was Altair’s script, Malik had asked him to write the same paragraph three times. Each one was slightly different because of his awful penmanship, but they were similar enough. “Transcribe this into standard Arabic,” he said.

The boys stared at him, “This is like no code I have ever seen, sir,” Jarib said.

“If you take this position you will be seeing this a lot. Whoever has it will have the responsibility of reading this and transcribing it into readable text, for that is not code,” the young men blanched.

“Then what is it?”

“Your test,” he said easily, “Now begin,” he waved at the paper and pens and ink wells that were laid out before them. The third boy, the youngest, named Kamal, reached out tentatively, and pulled a few sheets of paper and a pen and ink to himself. Raafe and Jarib followed in suite. “I do not care about your speed, it will come in time, I care about accuracy. Understand?” he added.

“Y-yes sir,” Raafe said shakily.

“Good, I will return shortly,” and he stood from the table. The rest of the library was mostly empty, as it was still mid morning and most of the others were outside still before the sun made being out unbearable along with dangerous. He walked amid the stacks for a moment, the library familiar to him as it was for the boys. As a novice it was a place of safety, for you could not be beaten within it, the scholars that spent most of their time here frowned upon it and while they would give you a slap on the wrist if you were too loud, it was barely more then that. After dinner was a time when the library was full of novices, or during time they had off. After dinner was the best though since the old scholars did not come into the library after dinner, so they could be loud and joke and build their camaraderie with each other.

He stopped and pulled out a book, a thin volume with a decorative golden pattern on the front in Arabic calligraphy. He already knew it’s contents and made his way back to the table. Before showing himself he stood a few paces behind the boys to watch them.

“What do you make of this?” Raafe asked Jarib.

“It’s nothing, see it isn’t on mine, stop asking me questions and work on your own,” Jarib snapped. Malik frowned, that would not do.

“Kamal?” Raafe asked the younger boy to his other side.

“What?”

“What does this look like?” Raafe pointed to something on his paper, “It looks like Hebrew, but it’s no character I’ve ever seen.” Kamal studied it a moment and then looked at his own and then it was like the light went of.

“It isn’t Hebrew,” Kamal said.

“What?” both older boys looked at him.

“It’s Armenian,” and then he looked down at his paper. “Whoever wrote this writes like a five year old,” and Malik secretly agreed. Best not to let Altair know that though, he did have pride after all.

“How does someone even write like this?” Jarib hissed. “Two languages I understand but this is obscene. Arabic, Hebrew, French, I even saw some English, and now you’re saying there is Armenian in here-

“I have some German,” Kamal said boredly, not looking at Jarib.

“You do? I have no German, but Greek.”

“Whoever wrote this is either amazingly smart, or dumber then a box of rocks,” Jarib muttered.

Malik cleared his throat and they all twisted around, Jarib going pale, realizing Malik had heard what he’d just said. “You should keep your voice down in a library,” was all Malik said and Raafe flushed in embarrassment, Kamal would not meet his eyes, but stared over his shoulder with wide eyes, and Jarib looked like he wanted to melt into the floor in mortification. “Continue,” he motioned, standing behind them still. They turned around again quickly and did not speak to again except for to themselves, quietly sounding out words to themselves as they tried to make heads and tails of Altair’s script.

After standing behind them for a bit longer Malik walked around the table and sat opposite them again. They glanced at him in their own time but were focused on their task. Several more long minutes passed until Kamal finally looked up at Malik. He face was deathly pale and Malik gave him a slight smile, he had reached the end of the message. Altair did not write his name in Arabic, or even in one language. It was a mix of three, most of it Hebrew and Armenian, as he said the characters were easier to form. Though his first surname was in Arabic, al-Umar, as though he refused to write his father’s name in any tongue but Arabic. Kamal looked down at the message, reread it and then made some extra marks to it before taking out another sheet of paper and rewriting it in much more neat script without all his notes in the margins.

Malik was pleased when he saw Raafe and Jarib have similar reactions. He said nothing of it though. They finished eventually, gently blowing on the ink for it to dry. “Finished?” Malik asked.

“Yes sir,” Raafe said and Malik collected the message and wrote their names on the corner in his own script. He also collected their first draft, noting which belonged to which as well, and put them in a pile to the side, he would review them later.

“Now,” Malik said, he held up the thin volume. “I trust you all know this library very well.” They nodded. “Find me this book’s twin.”

“Sir? There’s only one of that book,” Jarib said.

“I didn’t say find me _this_ book, I said find me it’s _twin_. I need a sharp mind, and the ability to think beyond a book and box,” he drummed his fingers on the raised cover. “Find me a twin,” and then they were scrambling from their seats, the tips of their fingers slightly stained with ink, and went to search the shelves.

As he waited he glanced over their work, reading the final transcriptions without too much thought. He had the master copy, which Altair had written from originally, but he couldn’t remember how perfect the transcriptions were. He’d told Altair not to skip any words, like he sometimes did, but they were all very good. He’d have to see how perfect they were once he was done here. He looked up at approaching footsteps. It was not any of the novices. “Munahid,” he said, pulling the paper down, “What can I do for you?”

“It’s Altair,” Malik sighed.

“What is he doing now?” he asked wearily. It would never get any easier though. The succession ceremony would be soon, but the Order tailors were still making Altair’s new robes, as well as _his_ new robes. He was no longer a Dai, but now a man with power only slightly less then the Mentor himself. He didn’t even know he was either. He was not a Dai, he was not a Mentor. He was between them both.

“He kicked the tailor out of his room.”

“What?” he asked, exasperated, “Why would he do that? What was the tailor even doing there?”

“It was a fitting. Altair said the man was trying to kill him.”

Malik reached up to rub the bridge his nose, “Great,” he groaned. “Stay here please Munahid, I have three novices searching the library for something. When they return just tell them to wait. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” and he got to his feet. Munahid nodded and fell into Malik’s seat.

Malik left the library and walked up two flights of stairs to where Altair’s suite of rooms were. Diyari was standing by the door and he just gave Malik a look when he walked right in, not bothering to knock. He almost seemed amused, as if knowing that Altair was going to get it. To most Altair was the leader of their duo, he _was_ the Mentor. But those closer to the two knew what the power dynamic was really like. Malik had been elected to be Altair’s retainer and right hand man, in truth he was much more then that. Altair did what Malik told him, he jumped on command and didn’t ever ask how high, it was always as high as he could. Thankfully most people didn’t know this, they saw Malik as a helper, the same way they saw Rauf and Munahid. Diyari knew the truth though, and found it amusing, those who did tended to, because of the irony. Malik, a cripple and invalid, who Azrael had pretty much dismissed when he made him Dai of Jerusalem (the district in Syria with the highest turn over for Dais), now basically lead one of the most powerful Orders in the world. Well, more that he held the leash for the man who _did_ actually lead such an Order, a man who could make someone like Altair come to heel when most couldn’t even believe it was possible. If that wasn’t irony he didn’t know what was.

“You,” Malik snapped when he closed the door.

“Me,” Altair looked up at him. He was on the pillows by the window as usual, playing with the Apple in his hand. Sawsan was curled up at his shoulder, taking a break from her kittens, which were becoming more and more lively. Kanwai, Adha and Seif were draped across Altair’s folded legs while Kadar was trying to gnaw on Nadyne’s grey tail without success on the comfortable rug in front of Altair.

Malik had his mouth open, but said nothing. Altair rose his brows at him. “You look ridiculous,” Malik finally said. “One of the most powerful and deadly men in the world. And he’s surrounded by kittens,” he said blandly.

Altair grinned, “I like them,” and he picked up little Adha gently and gave her some gentle scratchings under the chin. She mewed at him. He grinned and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers.

“What did I hear from Munahid that you kicked the tailor out?” Malik said purposefully, refusing to be distracted.

“He was stabbing me with needles,” Altair made a face at him and slipped Adha into the crook of his arm. As soon as he did both Seif and Kanwai decided _they_ wanted Altair to hold them too.

“Altair it was a _fitting_ , that sometimes happens. You need to be fitted for your robes,” he said crossly.

“I don’t like him,” Altair said.

Malik groaned and rubbed his eyes, “I don’t have time for this,” he said tiredly.

“What are you doing?” Altair asked.

Malik pulled his hand down his face, “I am trying to find you a scribe.”

“A scribe? What for?”

“I’m going to pretend you aren’t serious and that you’re making fun of yourself right now,” Malik said and put his hand on his hip. Altair just stared back at him. Was he actually serious. “Altair your script is awful, I’m surprised _you_ can read it.”

“What do I need a scribe for?”

“Because I have my own duties that don’t include having to rewrite everything you write, along with decoding everything you write,” he said coming over to stand beside him.

“I don’t want a scribe,” Altair said flatly, face cool as he pulled up his impenetrable mask. Malik hated it, especially within the safety of this room where Altair was usually so open with him. He saw it more often with work out on his desk several floors down.

Malik huffed as he crouched next to him, “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Altair didn’t look as the three two week old kittens crawled across his lap and hands, he was looking at Malik. “Yes,” he said.

“Then trust me,” he reached out and held the side of Altair’s head with his hand. “This will make it easier for the both of us. I can’t rewrite your messages for you all the time-

“Why not? You have been,” he frowned slightly.

“Yes, and before you were not Mentor,” Malik told him, “Before we were taking on perhaps half the duties of the Mentor. But not that is not so, and there is a lot to do to get the Order back on it’s feet properly and I will have to bear the brunt of this work until you can handle it with my help,” Altair looked off to the side. He gently stroked Altair’s cheek and the man looked at him again, his eyes apologetic about not being as smart or clever or as good as Malik with these sorts of things. “You’ll get it,” he promised, “But until the time that our work is equal you’ll need help, and I will be too busy. This scribe will help you.”

“I’m sorry,” Altair said.

Malik tipped forward to rest on his knees now, “There is nothing you need to apologize for,” he said gently. “Listen to me _habibi_ , I’m only arranging this because I think it will be good for the both of us. If it turns out that it is not, he’ll be dismissed. Alright?” Altair nodded, though he still seemed unsure. “We’ll talk about it more at lunch, I have to get back to the library and tell the tailor to come back in-

“Do I have to have new robes? I like the ones I have,” Altair said.

“You are Mentor, you are going to wear the black hood and robes,” Malik said firmly.

“I don’t want them to look like Al Mualim’s,” Altair said.

“He is not Al Mualim any long Altair; you are. And they won’t.”

“I don’t like him though.”

“We all must do things we don’t want. Now behave. Please? I have to go,” he made to stand but felt a grip on the front of his tunic. “Altair,” he said patiently. Altair’s lips became thin for a moment and Malik gave a half amused shake of his head. “I will see you at lunch,” he said and dropped a quick kiss onto Altair’s lips. Altair released him. “Behave for the tailor,” he ordered as he stood.

“Fine,” Altair said, though did so moodily. 

Malik straitened his robes before leaving. Diyari looked at him, “It’s sort of like taking care of a five year old,” Malik said aloud, though quietly, once the door was closed.

“A very deadly five year old,” Diyari said with mirth, him and the rest understood Malik’s sometimes frustrations with the other man. “Shall I get the tailor?”

“Yes,” Malik said, “And arrange for our lunch down at the main desk,” he added. Diyari nodded. They both left in the same direction.

“Altair said the tailor was trying to kill him,” Diyari said easily, to make conversation.

“He doesn’t like getting pricked with needles for his fitting,” Malik waved it away. Diyari chuckled. “Keep an eye on him during it, he’ll be less likely to send him out again if you’re there. He’ll know you’re there because I asked.”

“Clever five year old,” Diyari jested. Malik sighed deeply and Diyari chuckled again. “Is there anything else you need… Malik?” Like the rest he didn’t quite know what to call Malik. He was the first of his kind. He’d have to think of something before the ceremony.

“Tell Haytham I want to see him later. About Abbas,” and Diyari became serious.

“I’ll be sure he does,” he said and continued down the stairs, though Malik was on the level with the library and they left each other.

Munahid was where he’d left him, the three boys opposite him. The older man was talking with them and while they seemed a bit nervous it was nothing like they didn’t show to any other Master. “Sorry for taking so long,” Malik apologized.

“No trouble at all, brother,” Munahid said and got up from his seat, Malik slid into it and the other man excused himself.

“Where did you go, sir?” Jarib asked curiously.

“I had something to take care of with the Mentor, it is no matter to you,” he waved it away. “Now, show me the twin,” and the boys handed over their books. Raafe and Jarib had both chosen thin volumes on two relating subjects as well, though the covers were different. One was a soft leather cover, the title stamped into the leather with a press. The other was hard back with golden letters on the front and spine. They were both good finds. Kamal however had selected a different book. His was thicker, and on a totally unrelated subject to the one Malik had chosen, the cover was mostly blank except for some expressive silver calligraphy at the bottom.

“Kamal,” he said looking at the youngest novice, who was still perhaps fifteen years old. “Why did you choose this book? I asked for a twin,” his tone was not accusing, or even upset, he was curious, though he already had his own ideas as to _why_ Kamal had chosen it.

The novice stared over his shoulder, “Well I was going to pick Jarib’s book, but he found it first. So I decided that a twin did not have to look the same as it, because not all twins look alike. So I decided on that one,” and then, more hesitantly, like he felt he was being amazingly foolish, “A moon to the sun.”

Malik felt his lips twitch, he liked this one. Raafe and Jarib looked nonplussed. “They are all good choices,” he said, “Now, put them back,” and he handed them all a different book. Kamal jumped to his feet, Jarib next and Raafe only a moment behind. Malik watched them go, tracking each one through the stacks as best he could. Kamal knew exactly where his book went and returned first. Jarib looked lost for a moment but didn’t let it show, instead moving like he knew exactly where he was going. Raafe obviously had no idea where Jarib had gotten his book from and was wandering, lost, looking very obvious at that. Jarib returned second, but Raafe went and asked one of the scholars. The scholar said he would put the book back in it’s proper place and then Raafe returned, slightly flushed.

Once they were all seated Malik looked at Raafe this time. It was good the boy knew it was okay to not know. “Why did you ask that scholar for help?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” he said quickly with the look of someone who was afraid they’d done something wrong.

“This is true,” Malik nodded slowly. “There is nothing wrong with asking for help,” he glanced at Jarib. “Now, I want you to list, as many of our brothers as you can, and their ranks.”

“Novices as well?” Kamal asked.

“Yes.”

“What about the Dais?” Jarib asked.

“Obviously the Dais,” Raafe said with a roll of his eyes.

“But… aren’t some of them going to be let go of?”

Malik stared at Jarib, “Why would you think that?”

“I-I heard some of them talking.”

“Who?”

“Just some of our brothers, I wasn’t really paying attention. They said Jawad was in a mood because erm— because _you_ took his place at the head of the meeting,” he said awkwardly.

“What else?”

Jarib swallowed, “Well, they also said that Jawad was… uhm-

“Tell me Jarib, you won’t get in trouble.”

“He was talking a bit of… treason,” he whispered the last bit.

“Those are serious accusations those brothers made.”

“The one said he had a meeting with Abbas,” there was that man again, Abbas. Malik had to do something about him soon. What had Rauf said again? That he knew where to find a mongoose for that snake. He’d talk with Rauf about it.

Malik held up his hand, that was enough, “None of you speak of this. Understood?” they nodded. “Good. As for the Dais, there is nothing official yet, these are just accusations. List the current Dais, myself still of Jerusalem.”

“Yes, sir,” Jarib nodded shakily and he motioned for them to begin. They quickly went to work.

Malik leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Jawad and Rabi were both unfit to continue being Dais. Rabi had _stolen_ from the acting Mentor, and Jawad… he was meeting with Abbas. There was no proof of that though, not yet. He’d talk to the Dai’s escort about it, since that was probably who Jarib had overheard. Once Altair was official he could assign new men to be Dais. Perhaps he would suggest simple reassignment. Jawad to Jerusalem in his stead, though Rabi would be stripped of his title. With Malik’s luck the old man would be dead within the next five years stationed in Jerusalem, since that was about the length of time Dais lived in that district before something happened to them, by which he meant they were killed. Jerusalem was a dangerous city, especially for an old man.

He came out of his musings to look at the novices. Kamal was already done, looking embarrassed while the others continued writing. Jarib wrote for another minute or two and Raafe for another full five minutes before they handed in their papers. Kamal had labeled his page already, but Malik had to label Jarib and Raafe’s. “That is all,” Malik said. “I will call upon you at some point later today. You are to come promptly, is that understood?” They nodded. Malik collected the various papers he’d brought, and stood. “Clean up this table and you are free to go,” he said also picking up the book he’d taken from the shelf. He gave the book to the scholar as Raafe had before leaving the library with his papers in hand.

—

After Altair had been fitted for his robes he met Malik down at the desk. Malik was reviewing the novice’s transcriptions of what Altair had written and having some tea, doing his best not to feel the strain of the entire Order bearing down on his shoulders. Altair slid into the chair next to him. “Are you fitted?” Malik asked, not looking at him as he compared Raafe’s transcription to his actual original.

“Yes,” Altair said and Malik finally looked up at a soft thump on the table.

“Altair what is she doing here?” he looked at the other man as Sawsan walked across the table.

“She’s been cooped up in that room for weeks, she wanted to come out,” Altair said, lovingly rubbing Sawsan’s head. She purred delightfully. “They can afford to be alone for a bit. Diyari is watching the door if she wants to go back inside, as she knows the way.”

Malik frowned a little, “Very well,” he shrugged. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide who will be your scribe,” and Altair groaned. Malik just chuckled.

“I don’t want one. They are novices aren’t they? They’ll get under foot and ask stupid questions, or they won’t listen the first time-

“Funny, they sound a lot like you,” Malik said, still reading, and sipped his tea. Altair made a face at him. “They’re eager to please and will do as ordered. They’ll be like your assistant, instead of asking one of the other men to do it you can ask them.”

“I don’t want one,” he grumbled moodily.

“Or, if you want to think of it a different way, like someone to take under your wing,” he glanced at Altair out of the corner of his eye. “Like Azrael did for you.”

“And we saw how well that turned out for him,” Altair said bitterly.

“They are not warriors like you though. They would have been scholars or rafiqs, maybe even a Dai one day, your neck is safe,” he teased.

“Malik,” he complained.

“You won’t get our of this Altair,” Malik told him. “We must all do things we don’t want.”

That brought Altair up short and he said nothing more, though kept looking at Malik now and then even as he did his own work. Lunch was eventually brought, and bowl of liver for Sawsan, her favorite. She gladly ate it out of Altair’s hand when he tried and it was accompanied with petting and affection. “There is something we need to talk about,” Malik said.

“Hmm?”

“The Dais,” Malik began.

“May I?” Altair questioned briefly. “I do not trust those who didn’t vote for me, and Rabi even less, for stealing from me.”

“I do not either,” Malik agreed. “As Mentor you can give and take away positions as you see fit,” Altair nodded. “Rabi will be stripped of his, as an example to the others-

“I wish to demote others as well,” Altair said.

“You can’t demote those who apposed you Altair.”

“It isn’t just them,” Altair said. “I want to re-station Zaki here in Masyaf,” Malik was startled by that, but in a good way. And those men said Altair was stupid. “Also Abyan. And, of course, you as well,” he smirked at Malik.

“So that leaves four new positions open,” Malik said and Altair nodded.

“Jawad-

“Should be sent to Jerusalem,” Malik said. “Instead of demoting those who did not vote for you, it is better to reposition them to new districts then demote them. Demoting them makes it look like you’re scared of them. Placing them in new districts shows them you are aware of them and are not intimidated,” Altair nodded. “Jerusalem will take care of Jawad, and we can send two rafiqs with him to help him.”

“So that leaves,” Altair thought a moment, “Qamishli and Aleppo open.”

“Yes,” Malik nodded. “Qais and Raid also did not vote for you.”

“Homs and… Latakia?” Altair asked. Malik nodded again. “I do not want Qais far, you said he was strongly apposed to my succession. And Homs is a quiet district, Khalam can have it, he is a nice older man, Qais to Daraa, to be closer. Raid I am not afraid of acting without Jawad to wipe his ass for him, he can take Qamishli,” and that was that.

Malik was impressed, “You are very good at that,” Malik told him, Altair bowed his head in humble delight. “Aleppo, Acre, and Hama must be filled though if you want to keep Zaki and Abyan here.”

Altair was silent for many moments, “Diyari has… expressed interest in putting down his sword. Since his injury his sword arm has not been what it was. He told me it pains him.”

Malik frowned, “Yes, I can see how it would.”

“I think he would do well in Aleppo, but not Acre. The sea is not a place for the injured.”

“Aleppo is a good choice, yes,” Malik agreed as they ate their lunch which was half gone by now.

“Rauf has told me of one of his friends. He was injured in the fight, and lost his hand,” Malik had sympathy for that. “It doesn’t pain him and he’s used to the hardships of idiots. He would be a good fit for Acre.”

Malik chuckled, “He’s an instructor I take it?” Altair nodded. “Yes, I suppose one would need a great deal of patience to be the Dai of Acre, what with the Crusaders and all,” he nodded.

“I don’t know about Hama though,” Altair said and nibbled on some crusty bread.

“One of Abyan’s rafiqs in Hama can take over for him. He gloats about the man to the point of obscenity. The young rafiq runs the bureau as effectively, if not more so, then Abyan himself.”

“Then that is what we will do,” Altair said.

“It will be good.”

“So that means-“ Malik quickly shoved the grape leaf into his mouth and pulled a piece of paper and quill to him and quickly wrote down the new information, though left blanks for Acre and Hama until they knew who would sit there. “Latakia is also now without a Dai with Raid in Qamishli,” he said.

Altair rubbed his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know who would make a good Dai,” he sighed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Malik said gently.

“It’s a shame Sawsan is a cat. She would make an excellent Dai,” Altair joked.

Malik chuckled, “She would also have to be a man,” Malik said.

“Mmm,” Altair did not agree or disagree. He chose to say nothing though. Once lunch was over Sawsan jumped off the table and padded away, tail swishing back and forth, her direction obvious. She was returning to her kittens in Altair’s room.

Malik got the attention of a guard and beckoned him over as Altair stacked up their plates and put them to the side for when a maid came to take them away when she came around. “Find the novice named Raafe and tell him to come here,” he ordered. The guard nodded and went to do as ordered quickly. Altair was making a face, “I have heard your complaints,” Malik said holding up his hand to silence any further complaints. “You can meet them before dismissing them,” he said firmly. Altair huffed but did not argue.

Raafe came quickly, he smelled of his lunch, obviously having just coming from there. His hood was down and he stared at the two older men with wide eyes, unable to really take his eyes off Altair. Malik ignored him at first, he was reviewing a message from Cyprus.

“Well?” Altair suddenly growled, “What are you doing here novice?’ and Malik glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He knew Altair was testing him. Really while Malik could test their minds Altair could test their mettle and if they wilted before him they would have no chance as his scribe.

Raafe’s mouth opened and closed several times before he said, “Y-you called me here,” he stammered.

“I did not. Now what are you doing here?” Altair said with narrowed eyes.

Raafe swallowed and he looked away from Altair with effort, “Malik, sir, you called me,” he said, a bit shakily. Altair could have that effect on people though.

Malik finally glanced up at him, “Yes, I was wondering what took you so long,” Malik said boredly.

“I came as quickly as I could, sir,” he said, standing so strait everything probably hurt.

“Hmm,” Malik said and saw a bit of sweat appear on his jaw. He leaned over to Altair, “Look upset with him,” he said quietly so only Altair could hear and Altair’s face shifted a bit into a scowl, even though his hood hid his eyes, which, knowing him, here blank of any emotion, even this fake anger. Malik’s secret words with Altair did nothing to relax the novice. Before he’d wanted them to relax, now he wanted to see how they reacted under pressure and stress. “We were just having a discussion, novice, perhaps you could weigh in.”

“S-sir?” he said surprised.

“Raid of Latakia is being transferred to Jerusalem. Who would you fill his place with?”

Raafe was not expecting this sort of question. “Uh… I don’t know, sir. I suppose someone who had the skills to fill the position. One of his rafiqs,” he was genuine, if he didn’t have a clue about what he was talking about. Malik did not hold it against the boy.

“Which one?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know who they are,” Raafe swallowed thickly, sweating more now.

Altair leaned over to him, “Send him away, his fear pisses me off,” he shot a glare at Raafe.

“That is all Raafe, you’re dismissed,” and Malik waved him off, looking down again. Raafe stood there two seconds more before hustling away.

“That was a candidate? Please don’t make me work with someone who’s ass and nose I have to wipe,” Altair groaned.

“He did not do well,” Malik agreed. “Which is a surprise, as he knew several of the rafiqs in Latakia,” he said, looking over the list of names Raafe had made. “And he managed to untangle your mess of a script,” he added, giving Altair a look.

“My script is fine,” Altair ground out.

“Yes. Of course,” Malik said sarcastically. Altair narrowed his eyes at him. “Perhaps the others will do better.”

A few hours later he called Jarib to them. The boy arrived even sooner then Raafe and like before Malik ignored him. Altair did as well, he was looking over a book in one of the near shelves and so had distanced himself. They were in silence for at least a minute, with only the sound of Malik’s quill scratching at paper and Altair flipping through pages to fill the space. “Sir?” Jarib asked tentatively.

“What is it novice?” Malik still didn’t look up at him.

“You called me?”

“Yes, I am busy, do not speak out of turn,” he ordered and Jarib was cowed. He stood there for a bit more time, Altair took his seat next to Malik again, with the book he’d been leafing through. Altair settled back into his chair, looking Jarib over like one would a slave. Jarib fidgeted and did not look at either of them.

“Recite the name of Allah,” Altair said, arms folded across his chest. Malik’s lips twitched, but he did not allow his amused smirk to come to his face.

His words startled Jarib, “Which one, Master?”

“All of them,” he said, staring at the boy.

“Uhm, Allah,” he began, “Ar-Rahman, Ar-Rahim, Al-Malik, Al-Quddus, As-Salam-“ Malik half listened as Jarib recited the ninety-nine names of Allah, ticking them off in his own mind as he did. A minute or so later Jarib finished with, “Ar-Rashid, As-Sabur,” and then stood there silently.

“He missed one,” Altair said, not to Jarib, but to Malik.

“Hmm?” Jarib had not, but Malik played along. He knew what Altair was doing really, if he had to have one of these boys as his scribe, he would scare them first. A bit of payback at Malik and he knew it. “Which one?”

“Al-Mumit,” Altair said.

“No I didn’t,” Jarib said, speaking right out of turn. “Al-Mumit is between Al-Muhyi and Al-Hayy. Master Malik you had to have heard,” he said.

“What I heard was you speaking without permission, novice,” he said and the boy stiffened.

“Do you know all the names of Allah, novice?” Altair asked, which was funny since he didn’t think Altair actually knew all the names of Allah.

“Yes, of course I do,” he said quickly.

“Then why did you miss one? Al-Mumit is no less important then any other of His names.”

“I swear, I didn’t miss it. You must have misheard,” and as soon as he said that he knew he’d made a very grave mistake.

“Get. I have no use for a novice who will talk back to me in such a tone,” and Altair waved him off angrily. Jarib looked like he wanted to stay, to explain himself. But his will broke under Altair’s gaze and he practically ran. “Scardy cat,” Altair muttered.

“You can be very scary Altair.”

“Someone who works under me can not be so easily intimidated.”

“Mmm,” Malik said, “Shame. He had the best translation.”

“Even I knew better then to tell Al Mualim that he is wrong,” Altair said.

“You wouldn’t like any of them, no matter what they did to please you,” Malik sighed.

“Nope,” Altair agreed.

“Whoever it chosen try not to eat and/or scare them to death their first day.”

“But children are so tasty Malik,” he said teasingly as someone else came before the desk.

Malik looked up, surprised to see who it was. “Kamal, I did not call for you.”

“I know Master, excuse me,” he bowed a little. He didn’t even look at Altair. “I just thought I would save you the trouble of calling me, as it’s almost dinner and I didn’t wish to disturb you after it when I’m sure it’s been a long day already.” He saw Altair was paying attention now. “My apologies if I interrupted,” he bowed again.

“How old are you?” Altair asked.

Now Kamal looked at Altair. Unlike the other two he wore his gray hood up, “Fifteen, sir.”

“And your name?”

“Kamal, sir, Kamal Ovesian.”

“Hmmm,” Altair seemed thoughtful, “Who is the king of Armenia?”

“Armenia has no king, Master, it is under Turkish occupation. Even if it was, he would be no friend of ours, for they assist the Crusaders.”

“One of our Dais will not be returning home. Who would you put in his place?”

Kamal did not answer right away, but he also did not freeze up; he was thinking. “Gur,” he said finally.

Altair looked at Malik who was subtly looking over the list of names Kamal had written up earlier in the day. His list was much smaller then Raafe or Jarib’s, but it wasn’t a test to see how many people they knew, it was a test to see how many of their brothers they could identify. “One of our brothers,” Malik said boredly, meaning he was not a Master, nor a novice, but simply a wearer or white. “Why?” he asked Kamal.

“He’s an idiot,” Kamal said bluntly. Malik’s brows went up, “But he is very organized and tidy, as well as very loyal. If he was a Dai I would want to go to his city.”

“Mmm,” though neither of them said anything really. “You may go Kamal, thank you,” and Malik waved him away. Once he was gone he turned to Altair, “He was not so bad.”

“I wonder what he’s doing here,” Altair said thoughtfully. “Most of our men are Syrian.”

Malik scoffed, “He is Syrian.”

“He is Armenian.”

“Yes, and? The Armenians are our brothers as the Persians and Arabians are,” he said.

“He may do,” Altair said and stood with a groan. “He is right though, dinner is soon and we have been sitting at this desk most of the day,” he pulled Malik with him and Malik sighed and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Don’t sound so upset I wish for you to relax,” Altair said cheekily. “Your hair will go grey.”

Malik muttered to himself before saying louder, “You’re going to give me grey hair anyway,” and Altair chuckled. Malik followed him up the stairs to his suite. Malik’s was adjacent to it but it wasn’t totally unusual for Malik to simply remain in Altair’s room the night. The men who guarded the door didn’t ask, and Malik did not explain. They just accepted it, as they had accepted a great deal of things from the two men. Jari and Diyari were sitting by the near window to catch a breeze in the rather stuffy area that led into the rooms and Malik said they would be dining here tonight. Jari just nodded before returning to his conversation with Diyari.

Inside Altair checked on Sawsan and her kittens before ridding himself of most of his effects. Armor and weapons were shed with efficiency, and put on a table to the side for him to put away properly later. He also removed his boots and then flopped down onto the pillows with a satisfied groan. “Where is the Apple?” Malik asked.

“Here,” Altair held it up, it seemed to appear in his hand by magic.

“Have you figured anything about it?” Malik asked, following Altair’s lead in removing some of his clothing to pad bare foot over to Altair and sat as well. The kittens were immediately interested in the two men and scrambled away from their mother to paw at the rim of the box, mewing, wanting attention they knew they would give.

“Nothing beyond what I did already,” Altair said with a grunt as he leaned forward and picked little Kanwai up with the fork of his fore and middle finger under her front legs. She was tiny in his hands and Malik knew that if he wanted it wouldn’t be hard for him to hurt her. But Altair’s hands were gentle and delicate with the tiny creature. “I’m still trying,” he shrugged his indifference.

“Ah,” and Malik finally couldn’t take the pleading little eyes any more and brought Adha and Kadar into his lap. Adha had always been his favorite, but Kadar had become a new favorite. He was biased, it couldn’t be helped. Though Kadar was a much more serious cat, like his mother, then Kadar had ever been. Altair lay back on the pillows and held Kanwai above him. “Altair.”

“Mmm?”

“If I can ask… did you ever have cats before?”

Altair put Kanwai on his chest. “I did,” he said in a low voice.

“What happened to them?”

With a sigh Altair sat up, Kanwai dropping into his lap. “They were killed.”

Not they died. Not that they became lost. Not even that they were eaten or there had been an accident. They’d been _killed_.

“How?” Altair scratched the back of his head, looking away, he didn’t want to answer. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want but… when Sawsan was little you seemed very worried about her. I was just wondering why,” Malik shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

Altair said nothing for a long while, and didn’t even look at Malik, but down at little Kanwai, petting her gently. “When my father was still alive,” he began and Malik’s breathe caught. He rarely heard Altair speak of his father, his _real_ father, and by rarely he meant never. “He had a cat. It was from my mother he told me,” Malik felt like he couldn’t breathe. “It was this… heh,” he suddenly seemed amused by something even though the hurt was written clearly across his face. “It was this tom cat, missing an eye, ear all mangled. But the sweetest creature I’d ever known. He would sleep in my bed with me when my father was away, before I started my training. When…” he physically couldn’t continue for several seconds, “When my father died Al Mu- Azrael,” it sounded like he couldn’t even say the name, “sort of adopted me when I began my training. He watched over me and I lost track of Aaban,” the cat, obviously.

“It was a few years till I saw him again. He’d managed to survive without me or my father to take care of him, somehow. He was changed though,” he stroked Kanwai’s head gently. “He was a nasty thing to just about everyone, except me,” he glanced up at Malik, as if expecting Malik to say or do something. Malik did not. Altair licked his lips before looking back down and continuing, “He was still sweet to me, I started caring for him again and let him sleep in the same room as me and my roommates. They liked it, he kept the mice away and would let them pet him when he felt like. I kept it from Azrael though, he wouldn’t have liked it, even though Aaban was more of a rat catcher then a pet. Me and the others promised to keep it a secret. It was sort of fun,” he gave a weak, painful smile at Kanwai, who was licking the stump of his ring ringer.

“Somehow though, Azrael found out. Someone told him. I don’t know who. We were all disciplined for keeping a cat in our room. I got beat the worst,” almost self consciously Altair reached up and ran his thumb against the scar on his mouth. So that was where Altair had gotten it. Malik had wondered. Beating was not unknown to Malik, he’d been beaten his fair share as a young man, to discipline him. Never enough to break bones, and rarely to the point of lasting bruises, but it would hurt and the lesson would stick. Cutting as punishment was unheard of. But when your punisher was the Mentor there was little someone could do to stop him. 

“He said that we were doing ourselves a disservice in keeping Aaban. Then, Azrael killed him,” the finality of his words and his story made Malik feel a bit queasy. He remembered Altair, lost in his fever, begging Malik to not take Sawsan away. No, not begging Malik. He had been begging _Azrael_ to not take her away as he had Aaban. Knowing the old man he’d done it in front of all the boys, for the lesson to stick along with the beatings. He could imagine a young Altair, face bleeding from his punishment having to watch Azrael kill Aaban, the last thing he had from his parents. It made Malik’s throat tight. Malik and Kadar had been orphans from a fire, taken in during a threshing, and their village had been happy to be rid of them. Not because they were cruel, but because they were two more mouths to feed and most of them could not afford to do so.

He put Adha and Kadar back into the box and rose up onto his knees and shuffled over to Altair. He didn’t say anything but touched Altair’s hand as Kanwai managed to squirm out of Altair’s lap. Altair looked up at him. His face was blank, but it was forced into the blankness. Malik didn’t even say he was sorry, or that he felt Altair’s grief. He did not, nor did he feel exactly sorry for Altair. But he could still empathize. He reached up and cupped his cheek. Altair’s eyes closed and he pressed into Malik’s hand, and that was all that was needed for Malik to do. Malik leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Altair’s and the man grabbed hold of the front of Malik’s robes.

They both started and looked up when there was a thump. “She’s as meddlesome as her mother,” Malik said and rose as Kanwai had bumped into the small table to the side where Altair’s effects had been laid and one of his gloves had fallen to the floor. Altair chuckled as Malik went over to the little tabby, who was sniffing at the glove, no doubt because it smelled like Altair, and picked up the little ball of fur. She pawed at his thumb as he put her back in the box, where Sawsan was watching carefully to make sure nothing happened to her kitten.When Malik put her back into the box Sawsan picked her up by the scruff and brought her back to where her siblings were and proceeded to wash her.

Even though Altair did not even move Malik recognized the silent way his eyes beckoned. He kneeled in front of Altair again and tentatively Altair kissed him. Malik ran his hand across Altair’s brutally short hair and when they parted ran his finger down the scar on his mouth. “Azrael should not have done this,” he said.

Altair shrugged, “It healed well enough,” and he ran his tongue across the scar as well, catching Malik’s finger as he did.

“It makes your lopsided face even more lopsi-“ he forgot what he was going to say when Altair sucked on the tip of his finger. _Oh_.

There was a knock, “Master Altair, Malik,” Jari called.

Altair groaned and thumped back into the pillows, looking annoyed by the man. Malik chuckled, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner,” and he stood up to go get the door. Altair just looked personally insulted, though didn’t direct it at Jari. He knew the other man couldn’t have known. Malik ordered Altair to the larger table to eat and Altair did so, though sulked about it the whole way. Malik finally got him to shut up with a deep kiss that left them both a bit breathless with the intensity it brought out of them both. They flushed when they broke apart and Malik brought up other conversation, like Altair’s scribe. It was worth it if only to hear Altair’s pained groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! I have officially lost control of this story. It was suppose to end like... four chapters ago. I'm not really complaining though since ajashjdkclw this is like my favorite story right now. It gets to look at all the world building for the Order I never usually be and omfg I can't even sometimes this story breaks my heart and makes me so happy to write. Everyone who reads this and is waiting for other stories to update; lols, this is why your other stories haven't been updated. I only vaguely know where this story is going in the long run and have no idea where it ends. At least after Maria shows up. Yes Maria is going to show up, you're just ganna have to live with it kids! Don't worry though, Malik will always be Altair's habibi.


	13. Royal Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ffff-
> 
> long chapter. like, the longest i've ever written. like wow. sooooo much stuff happens in this chapter, so i guess yeah, it should be long (it's over 10k words omf gksdjgkasd). After this chapter there's ganna be... well you'll just see. But I'm glad this chapter is over.

The ceremony was tomorrow. Malik was forcing himself to relax. Hell, _Altair_ was forcing him to relax. He knew he wasn’t the only one on edge, but Altair was much better as hiding it then Malik was. Altair had kicked Malik away from the desk after lunch when he’d started scrambling characters and his hand started to tremble. Malik had, of course, fought him about it and only when their yelling match had drawn Rauf from the front courtyard did Malik leave. It was one thing to argue with Altair, it was another thing entirely to argue with the reasonable Rauf. Altair told him to go do something actually useful and Rauf said to go do something that didn’t stress him out. In the same breathe he offered to fix Malik a hookah. Malik wisely declined. He’d once shared a hookah with Rauf… never again. He’d lost sixteen hours and ended up on the roof of the fortress without a shirt and no recollection of how he got there. Rauf made a strong hookah and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

So he’d left the desk with Altair in Rauf’s care. He didn’t even know what to do with himself though. A nap? He knew he was too high strung right now to nap. And he’d just had lunch, which funnily enough Altair had had to make him eat since his stomach was too tight to hold much down, so he wasn’t hungry. Eventually he decided to just try to relax in their rooms. 

Somewhere along the way Malik had stopped thinking about the Master’s suite as Altair’s and started thinking about it as _theirs_. It made perfect sense of course, as Malik spent just as much time there as Altair, and their rooms were right next to each other.

Jari was sitting by the door, hood up, head down, looking like he was sleeping. Malik knew he wasn’t, but he let the man rest. He went inside and suddenly felt like he should go back downstairs. He could still-

With a groan he rubbed his face. He was going to go grey by thirty at this rate.

From the window Sawsan stood up from her box and stepped out before stretching on one of the rugs with a pleased look on her face. She then jumped up onto the window sill and was gone. Malik knew she had gone to take care of her body’s needs. Malik sighed tiredly and walked over to the box and sat down next to them. The two brothers were sleeping, curled up against each other like a solid gray, fluffy, mass. Their sisters were padding around though and Malik watched as Nadyne pounced on Kanwai and they batted at each other playfully. Adha watched, tail curled up into the air and looked like she wanted to join but she was about half her sisters’ size still. Malik clicked his tongue and she turned to look at him.

He picked her up and she was more then happy for Malik’s affection as he sat back against the pillows and put the kitten on his chest. He guessed this qualified as relaxing. Adha mewed at him and he grinned slightly at her. She had green eyes, though he wondered if they’d last. “Lets hope you grow up to be as beautiful as the woman you’re named for,” Malik said and scratched her under the chin. She instantly dropped and started purring, head tipping back for Malik to properly pet her. 

He wondered what was going to happen to them. Yes they were going to stay, he knew that, Altair wouldn’t permit anything happening to them. But would they be pets? Rat catchers? Or maybe just shadows. He also hoped that Sawsan’s kittens were half as smart as she was. Maybe they could be used similarly to pigeons? Not with too important a message though. He laughed at himself. “Wanting to train a cat,” Malik muttered to himself, “The stress must be getting to me,” and scratched the side of Adha’s face.

He looked up when there was a light knock at the door. “Grand Dai,” Jari called, “Haytham is here.”

“Let him in,” Malik called back, he didn’t want to get up, but he did sit upright, Adha being dropped into his lap. That was something else. Malik had decided, with the help of some of his fellow Dais at that, what Malik’s new title would be. He’d first been against it, as he would not be a Dai, but it made sense. Altair was the Master of the Assassins, he was always the first and always would be, but Grandmaster implied he was the leader of warriors. Everyone knew Malik, while still a warrior, would always be the one who took care of the more sensitive politics, like he was already, because Altair (while he would learn) would never change in being completely unreasonable at time. That and the Dais checked their warrior brothers, without them the Order could fall into a bit of anarchy as brothers were allowed to kill without say. Malik knew they had more then their fair share of men who loved to fight, and kill and to make their targets bleed. Altair was one of them. The Dais kept them in check, as the warriors kept the Dais in check by reminding them that without the Assassins to do as they said they were nothing but old men who sat around worrying about politics. It made perfect sense that someone as bloodthirsty as their new Grandmaster would need a check, a Grand Dai.

“Grand Dai,” Haytham bowed a little when he came in, Jari closed the door behind him. “I apologize for being so tardy.”

Malik waved it away, “I sent you to do something dangerous Haytham, I know you cannot get away at a moment’s notice.” He of course meant Abbas. Since that day Rauf had brought up the notion that Abbas was a snake Malik had had Haytham tail Abbas and try to get close to him. As such he hadn’t seen Haytham much in the past two and a half weeks, only once between then and now actually. “Sit,” and Haytham sat as though he carried a great weight.

“I was almost afraid you’d forgotten about me Malik,” Haytham said, slightly teasing, trying to make light.

“I’ve had a lot to deal with, but I never forgot,” he assured him. “Have you gotten close to Abbas?”

“Yes. And the man lives in a damn nest of snakes,” Haytham bared his teeth. “I gained his trust by acting like I was upset at being mostly overlooked. I mean you have Jari, Ehan and Diyari guarding the Mentor, and Munahid is practically an advisor. What about me? I’m just a kid who isn’t important or old enough to be given real responsibilities.” Malik chuckled, “Needless to say he fell right for it,” Haytham flashed him a grin.

“What did you learn?”

“He has some supporters, mostly some older Assassins who are not happy with such a young Mentor, or one so volatile. They would have been happy with Rauf, or Aaban, as they’ve proved themselves over the years. They aren’t happy Altair is going to be Grandmaster, but have been keeping their dissent to themselves until Abbas rooted them out.”

“This isn’t good.”

“No,” Haytham agreed. “Abbas also knows I’m meeting with you. I told him he might suspect me, since even though I don’t talk to you, Ehan is still a friend. I told him Ehan might have told you about me and that’s why you called me here.”

“You are far too good at this Haytham,” Malik told him fondly.

“I am not the biggest fan of blood work,” he made a face, “Our brothers like to make a spectacle of their targets. I’d rather cut their throats in their sleep, or… poison,” he added cautiously. Malik knew well the stigma of poison. It was seen as the coward’s way. Malik himself saw nothing wrong with it, sometimes a more subtle hand was required when a blade would not do.

“So I sent a snake to catch a snake then?” and that pleased Haytham a bit, “What else?”

“Abbas has been meeting with Jawad and Raid,” his eyes narrowed into slits. “Not often, but it’s been a few times.”

“Are you in those meetings?”

“Sometimes. I made myself an importance to him, because of Ehan. I’ve given Abbas the schedule for who watches Altair’s door at what time. You should change it.”

“Ah,” Malik nodded, “What else have you told him?”

“Nothing much besides that. He knows Ehan is an iron trap even without me saying so, he does not give up secrets easily so I haven’t told him much. I did spread the rumors around about Dai reassignment, and confirmed that Jawad is going to Jerusalem. Abbas likes me, he lets me sit in some of his meetings with the older men, so long as I don’t speak. He thinks I’m a child. Useful, but a child.”

Malik chuckled, “Poor fool,” and Haytham laughed. “What do Jawad and Abbas talk about?”

Haytham rubbed his face, “The Order, Altair… you,” he barely glanced at Malik as he said that. “Jawad says if Abbas can get rid of Altair and you Aaban will take up the Mentorship without a fight. Rauf has made it known publicly he will never wear black except for mourning and would rather leave the Order then be forced into it,” he rocked forward a bit and grabbed his ankles.

“And what does Abbas hope to gain with Aaban as the Mentor?”

“Jawad had promised him a Master status.”

“And that satisfies Abbas?”

“It will. For a while,” he said gravely. “Abbas knows only Masters,  Master Instructors and sometimes scholars can be made Mentor. He is none of those things. I’ve heard him talking with his inner circle of supporters. I wasn’t supposed to hear this, but Abbas doesn’t know how to speak softly,” he smirked. “If he got rid of you and Altair and Aaban was made Mentor and did as Jawad promised he’d wait and then eventually, he’d kill Aaban as well. At that point Jawad would probably be dead, and if he wasn’t, Abbas would arrange for an ‘accident’ on his way from Qamishli to Masyaf when the Mentor was to be announced. Before his death Aaban would put men that supported Abbas into Dai positions so even if he wasn’t a candidate he’d be brought up, like you did with Altair. He’s seen you don’t need to be chosen by the last Mentor to be chosen.”

Malik let out a long whistle, “That is quite an ambition,” Malik said and they both looked at a thud.

“Ah! Lily lady,” Haytham beamed at Sawsan. The tabby meowed at Haytham and padded over to him, letting him pet her. “Seif would have loved to see you now,” he said softly and she rubbed the top of her head against his hand. Haytham looked sad, even though he smiled.

“When will he move against Altair?”

Haytham looked at Malik and bit his upper lip, “He wants to strike before Altair gets settled into his position.”

“So that means?”

“Tomorrow. At the ceremony. He’s hoping to kill you both,” and a jolt shot down Malik’s spine making him sit up strait.

“How?”

“I’m not sure.”

Malik had his hand covering the lower half of his face, “When?”

“All I know is it’s tomorrow during the ceremony. As it is I’m one of the few people who even know.”

 “Try and become the killer, I doubt Abbas will do it himself,” Malik said seriously.

“He won’t. He already told me that, when I asked if he would. He just laughed and said ‘as if I would soil my hands with Altair and that cripple’s filthy blood,’” and Malik’s eyes narrowed.

“Try to become the killer.” Malik ordered and Haytham nodded, “Would he let you?”

“He knows I’m good with a sword, I did fight against Rauf during the coup, and even he respects Rauf.”

“Do that and tell Ehan if you succeed or not, he will tell me,” Haytham nodded again. “If you do, go for range, a bow or crossbow. If he complains tell him that only a fool tries to kill Altair at close range, he’ll see the wisdom in that. You’d never get close to him unless it was range,” and Haytham nodded again. “How fast can you shoot?”

“A bow? About four seconds, crossbow is how long it takes me to load and sight up.”

“Use a bow, and during the ceremony shoot Altair.”

“W-what!” he yelped, his hand actually stopping in petting Sawsan he was so surprised.

“I’ll tell him your arrow is coming. Trust me, one arrow won’t mean much to Altair, he’s taken worse, and I’ll have him wear some padding. Shoot here,” he pointed to his own left shoulder, “it’ll look like you missed a shot to the heart. This way you’ll prove yourself to Abbas that you are one of his, but you just missed. He’ll have to try again.”

“And what if I’m not the killer?”

“I’ll have Altair wear padding anyway, and I as well. If they shoot at range it’s all we can do and hope they aren’t that great a shot. If they try and do something stupid like get close to Altair with a blade… well, I’d sort of feel sorry for whoever Abbas sent to die.”

“And what about Abbas?”

“What about him?”

“You’re just going to let him get away with this?”

“He won’t get away with anything. At the least we’ll catch the killer if it isn’t you and make an example of him. Altair doesn’t appreciate getting shot at any less then anyone else,” if they weren’t suicidal and thought that they could take Altair on in a fight.

“But he won’t end up dead,” Haytham said sourly.

“In time,” Malik promised.

“Is that all Grand Dai?” he asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Okay. I need something to take back with me.”

“Of course,” Malik thought about that. “What does he know about the Dai reassignments?”

“Just the rumors. Jawad to Jerusalem, Raid to Qamishli, Qais to Daraa and replaced by Khalam, both Zaki and Abyan asked to remain her. It leaves three positions open.”

“No rumors about who those are?”

Haytham scoffed, “Every scholar and Master with a cock is saying they’re going to get the position.”

“Well, I can tell you exactly who the new Dais will be,” Malik said.

“He’ll be interested,” Haytham nodded.

“The new rafiq of Acre will be Abdul Batin-

“The instructor who lost his hand?” Malik nodded, “Excellent, Abbas hates him.”

“He does?” that was a shock to him.

“Abdul is a bit old, you know?” Malik didn’t actually, he’d had his mind on other things, “He was an instructor to Abbas when he was a journeyman. Apparently Abdul liked to hit novices who spoke out of turn or were poor at their work.”

“Well,” Malik said with a slight face. Malik had only heard the good about Abdul Batin. “Liked?” that had been past tense.

“He’s softened up since then. He was my instructor in knife throwing for a while, and he was nice to me even though I’m not the best knife thrower,” he shrugged. “Abbas is just bitter.”

“He is,” Malik agreed, “Hama will be Dean.” Dean was pretty much already running the bureau for Abyan anyway and was a very talented and organized younger man, though he was still older then Malik. Haytham nodded. “Diyari will be put in Aleppo.”

“He will?” Haytham asked, wide eyed. “Does he know?”

“Yes.”

“Does Jari know?”

Malik rose a brow at him, “I’m not sure, why?”

Haytham opened his mouth, and then abruptly closed it. “No reason. I was just wondering, they are good friends,” and Malik furrowed his brow a little in confusion. 

“The last is Gur to Latakia,” Malik said.

“Really? Huh, okay. So Abdul Batin to Acre, Dean in Hama, Gur to Latakia and Diyari in Aleppo?”

“Yes.”

“So then the rest of the rumors are true?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. He’ll be pleased to know this,” Haytham nodded.

“Nothing else?”

“No,” Haytham shook his head.

“Then that’s all I have for you. Send a message through Ehan about who is the killer for tomorrow,” Malik said as Haytham stood.

“I will,” Haytham nodded. “Safety and peace Grand Dai,” he bowed.

“Safety and peace, Haytham. Be careful.” Haytham nodded before leaving. 

Malik settled back down onto the pillows with a full head. Now with Haytham gone Sawsan walked elegantly over to him and after giving her little runt of a kitten a nuzzle she climbed up onto Malik’s left shoulder and seemed very content to lay there against him. “I make a good pillow then Sawsan?” he asked her. She flicked her tail against his ear and he scratched her affectionately, after a moment she purred softly. So much to do

—

Malik stared at Altair with a frown. Altair was frowning back at him. “What?” Malik finally asked.

“It’s a stupid plan,” Altair said sternly.

“It’s a good plan,” Malik insisted.

“You want me _to get shot_.”

Malik scoffed, “Don’t sound like you’ve never been shot.”

“Yes, but I don’t usually expect those arrows.”

“Haytham is a good shot, he won’t hit you anywhere you can’t recover from,” Malik informed him. He’d waited until Haytham had told him one way or another about how Abbas was going to move before telling Altair. That meant that he hadn’t until the morning of, and Altair was dressing in his new black robes, which he seemed unhappy about already. Thankfully Abbas had fallen for the bait and let Haytham do it. It hadn’t taken much convincing apparently. Abbas was ambitious, but also a bit stupid. Malik knew that, he’d always been less crafty then the other Assassins, going strait for the throat. In that respect Altair and Abbas were very similar. But that was where all similarities ended.

“I still don’t like it,” Altair frowned deeply.

“You can either wear the leather under you robes and not get hurt as badly, or, you can not. Either way you’re still getting shot,” Malik said and put his fist on his hip. His version of folding his arms, since… well he couldn’t do that anymore now could he? “I’ve already given Haytham the go ahead.”

“You’re going to get me killed one of these days,” Altair sighed but pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the chair so he was just in his thin undershirt.

“On the contrary,” Malik said picking up the slightly padded shoulder armor that would cover the shoulders and upper chest. It was thick enough to help stop an arrow, but thin enough to not be noticed under Altair’s black robes. “I’m trying to keep you alive,” and handed the armor to Altair. He frowned and pulled it over his head, over his under shirt. “Don’t you trust me to have your best interest at heart?” Malik asked and put a hand on his chest.

Altair looked at him, eyes searching for something, and licked his lips before looking away to the buckles that clipped just in front of his armpit. “Yes,” he said in a grunt. “Why can’t I just kill Abbas now?”

“Because it’s a stupid move. We need to catch him doing wrong.”

“Azrael killed whoever he wanted-

“Yes, and _you_ are not Azrael. Are you?” Malik poked his chest to make a point. Altair’s eyes flicked up to his, but he said nothing. “Are you?”

“Sometimes I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “They say pomegranates don’t fall far from the tree,” and he worked at the buckle on the other side of his chest.

“Hey,” Malik grabbed his chin quickly and made him look up, eyes sharp. “Azrael was not your father. Umar was, and he was a good man, better then Azrael could ever claim to be.”

Altair stared at him and then tugged his chin out of Malik’s grasp. “Are you armored as well?” he asked passively finishing with the buckle.

“Yes. But lighter then you. Haytham is going to miss his second shot, which is meant for me. By then there should be enough of an uproar to warrant him fleeing.”

“Good,” and Altair tugged at the light armor to make it settle better on his shoulders and be comfortable, “I’d hate for something to happen to you,” for a moment his eyes softened.

“Nothing is going to happen to either of us,” Malik said and gave the other man’s chin an affectionate brush with his forefinger, with a slight smile. Altair didn’t smile back. “What’s wrong?” his smile dropped in an instant.

“Nothing,” Altair said, looking away and grabbing his shirt.

“Yes, it _is_ something, and it isn’t just this plan. You might be able to hide from most people Altair, but I know you too well. You can tell me,” he added kindly. Altair was looking at his shirt, which was still white, and only glanced at Malik. “Altair, tell me,” and he laid a hand on his arm.

“Is it really that easy?” Altair asked.

“Is what?”

Altair took a deep breathe. “Do you really forgive me?’

“Is that what this is about. Altair I told you-

“Or are you just doing all this because you have to?” Malik blinked at him, not understanding what Altair meant. “This,” he paused for almost too long, “Us.”

Malik frowned deeply at him, “Is that what has gotten into that empty head of yours?” he demanded. “Where in the world did you get that stupid idea?”

“You’re always telling me that we have to do things even if we don’t want to. That the wellbeing of the Order comes before the wants of the one,” Altair wouldn’t look at him, probably more like couldn’t. He had trouble with this, with having to explain his thoughts in words as well as dealing with whatever feelings he was having. Malik could appreciate that. Assassins were warriors and they tried very hard to distance themselves from the emotions of the body that could hurt them, or make them less effective. Someone on the outside would call them all emotionally stunted, but to them it was normal, and emotions were hard to grasp for Assassins, wether they were Dai or warrior or scholar. “I just thought-

“No, that’s just it, you didn’t think,” Malik told him sternly. “You just assumed, and frankly I’m insulted you think so little of me,” and Altair stared at him near horrified. Obviously that hadn’t been his intention. “Do you think so less of me that I would manipulate you like that?” Malik asked him seriously.

“I would hope not,” Altair said, though still sounded uneasy.

“Good. Because I’m not. Even if it was for the Order there are some things I would never do, in a million years.”

“Like what?” Altair ventured.

“Like this, idiot,” and he kissed Altair. It took Altair a few seconds to respond and kiss him back. “Now stop thinking foolish things and finish getting dressed, it’s a big day.”

“The tailor is going to kill me for this,” Altair muttered, though now he did not seem to be avoiding Malik’s gaze as he had been the past few days. Malik had previously put it down to nerves, he was glad to know it was something even more stupid. “I’m literally going to be wearing these things for a few hours and then there is going to be a hole in them, and maybe blood,” he sighed and tugged on the long shirt which got tucked into his pants.

“You’re Grandmaster, you can get another set of robes,” Malik reminded him.

“He’s still a wily old man,” Altair informed him.

“Good. That means he makes you stand still. Heaven forbid he does it better then me,” Malik sighed and Altair pulled on the sleeveless tunic. 

Most of the Grandmaster robes was the same as the normal Assassin uniform. But there were parts that weren’t, and parts that had been modified for Altair. Malik had to hand it to the tailor, he was very good. It was like he’d broken the normal Grandmaster robes in two and given them both exactly what they needed. A normal Grandmaster’s robes had intricate needlework and subtly patterned fabrics as well as symbols on the robes to proclaim his rank if the black hood didn’t give it away. But since there were, in a sense, two Grandmasters, the robes couldn’t be the same as one had to be able to tell at a glance who was who.

So Altair’s robes were altered, and Malik’s had been designed from scratch. Altair’s robes were a flat fabric, to go along with his sensibilities and the ornamentation cut back, as Altair was not a flashy guy and didn’t need to look like a damn peacock. Instead the only real patterning was on the red bands that lined the opening of the robe and the hems of his sleeves, which mimicked the pattern when he’d been a mere Assassin, being an endless geometric design. There were some more subtle cues like the cut of the robes as well, which didn’t have the traditional tails of an Assassin nor was it the normal square cut with only a slit down the middle of other Grandmasters. These were almost Assassin’s tails, but broader, more squared, but still distinct tails. The leather scale armor around his waist was almost decorative with stylized flowers subtly pressed into the leather. They were amazingly practical robes, much like the man who wore them.

Malik’s were cut the same but different. Unlike Altair’s flat black fabric Malik’s top robe had a subtle pattern which mirrored the flowers on Altair’s armor. His was also slightly more… flamboyant he supposed, but then, compared to an Assassin’s robes a Dai’s robes was like a rooster next to a chicken. The normal Dai symbol was further embellished on the sleeve and instead of just on both sides of the robes the design practically engulfed the entire back of the robes, becoming a huge, stylized bush of thorns and flowers. The red hems on Malik’s center cut and sleeves also bore needlework reminiscent of his old engaged circles. His own leather belt armor was smooth, flat, like Altair’s robes. 

Whatever they’d paid the tailor for these clothes it probably wasn’t enough for understanding the two of them and their relationship, _professional relationship_ , as well as he did, knowing what both man needed and making it as he saw fit. When Malik had been given his new robes the other day he’d laid them out and stared at them for a while, the first thought coming to his mind being ‘I can’t wear these,’ and ‘I don’t deserve this.’ He’d then folded them up and put them away where he couldn’t look at them until this morning where he’d put them on without looking at them.

When Altair pulled on the top black robe after fixing his sword to his hip it was Malik was looking at a different man. He’d looked so nervous before, but as Altair drew his hood up it all dissolved. Standing before Malik was the Grandmaster of the Order of Assassins, back strait, every line of his body hard and lean.

“You look good,” Malik said simply, as if that could even hope to encompass Altair once he’d donned these robes, which made him look like a raven, or a crow, a messenger of death. It sent a shiver down Malik’s spine, though perhaps not in a bad way.

“Fake it till you make it,” Altair said in a cool, flat voice. He was hiding behind it and they both knew it. Altair was nervous, and not happy about having to get shot, even if it would be a non fatal arrow.

“You can do this,” Malik reminded him, “And I’ll be there. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t have to speak right?”

“We’ve been over this. You just have to repeat some things, but no speeches. I get to do that,” he grinned.

“Good. You’re good at that,” and Altair’s voice actually cracked a little. Malik rose his brows at him, “This is why you’re doing the talking and I just get to stand there looking pretty.”

Malik snorted, “And you look very pretty,” Malik said with more then a little teasing in his voice, being annoying patronizing. Altair frowned at him, and it was nearly a pout. Malik kissed him gently. “Ready?” 

“No,” he groaned, “But lets go away,” he sighed and his hands turned into fists at his side. Malik guessed so that no one would see if they were shaking or not. Malik wasn’t going to guess if they were or not, all he cared about was that Altair could put up a brave face. That was of course, what Altair always did, so he wasn’t too worried.

—

There was one thing about this ceremony that Malik had really not appreciated until they were in the middle of it. That is was long. And he didn’t just mean long like the initiation of new Assassins (and the sacrifice of their ring finger), which was pretty long, but _long_. Azrael had become Mentor shortly after Malik’s threshing but he didn’t remember it being _nearly_ this long. But then he was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep during it, his little brother’s head cushioned in his lap as he leaned against another boy. He couldn’t remember who now, but he’d definitely napped through some of it.

There was no napping today though.

The ceremony had started with prayers to Allah, and then to the Christian God and YHVH of Judaism. While most of the brothers were Muslim there were those who were not and the Order did not discriminate with religion. Religion was simply used to make them all brothers under the same god, for Allah, God and YHVH were all the same god, their teachings similar to the point of being the same, they merely had different names and every Assassin knew this. Masyaf was perhaps the only place in the Holy Land where your religion did not matter, unlike the rest which were worried about who you were, what god you worshiped and if you could be converted. Malik prayed to Allah during His prayers with most of the other brothers, but forwent God and YHVH, though he knew those prayers and rituals as well. It helped an Assassin blend in to know all the rituals and prayers or hymns of the religions they moved within.

He was surprised when Altair had prayed with each service. Though really it was very clever as well. It showed that it did not matter what name or form He took, Altair would worship him, it also showed he did not favor any brothers over the others for whatever religion they may practice.

That had taken quite a bit of time honestly. Malik was glad when it was over though. Then had come the rituals the Assassins had, which were just as long and elaborate as any religious ceremony. But finally it was nearing it’s end. All that was left was to swear in the new Grandmaster, and Grand Dai as well in this case. Malik was sworn in first, the normal words altered a bit for him where he kneeled in front of all the Dais. Zaki was reading from the old scroll which had been passed down through the ages, and Jawad was on the furthest point from him at the end of the line. When Zaki was finished Malik touched his head to the ground as though he was praying to Allah before standing.

He’d never been more happy to be out of the radar of hundreds of their brothers, who’s eyes drilled into him during the swearing in. They all shifted to Altair when he rose to do the same. He moved like a man unbound by gravity, nearly floating across the ground. When he stood in front of Zaki he kneeled and for the first time the entire ceremony pushed back his hood. Zaki started to speak, and this time the words he spoke were not modified, but the exact as they’d been written. The words weren’t in Arabic though, or even Latin, but Greek. Some said the Order went back further then that, but Greece where they worked in hand for Alexander the Great was as far back as their records went. Malik honestly didn’t know Greek, but Zaki had told him what to say, as he did with Altair.

When Zaki finally stopped speaking Altair only bowed his head before rising in a single, fluid, quick motion, his robe flowing around him like black water. The assembled Assassins, which up till now had been quiet, erupted into cheering. Altair bowed to them, hands palms out to them, a symbol of his servitude to them and the Order as they would serve him. Malik’s chest swelled with pride. Now all that was left was Haytham.

The Order was just starting to quiet and as Altair straitened Malik seemed to blink and then an arrow appeared on Altair’s shoulder. He stumbled, and fell back, but down down. A new roar surged through the Order; rage. Another arrow flew, and hit Altair again, he stumbled again, having to take several steps back and Malik could see blood. A final arrow flew, missing Altair and landing between Malik’s feet. He searched the room for where Haytham could have possibly been. They were outside, since there was no room in the castle that could house the entire Order, and there were a hundred places for someone like them to hide.

The Order was in an uproar and he could hear some yelling to find the traitor. He hoped Haytham got away. Malik himself bounded to Altair’s side. “How is it?” he asked, putting his hand to Altair’s chest.

“Well, it got through the padding,” Altair said through gritted teeth. “But I’ll live.”

“Good that’s-

Two Assassins suddenly stormed the makeshift stage that had been built so everyone could see. Their swords were drawn and they made a b-line for the two of them. Malik stepped back from Altair, knowing what would come. Within reaching distance Altair’s hand was at his hilt and in the span of perhaps five seconds he’d deflected the sword of one of them and ramming his sword through him like a kebab, yanking up and the Assassin’s innards spilled out across the stage. Altair kept his left arm close though, as moving the shoulder too much would hurt even worse.

The other Assassin hesitated and Altair waved his sword at him, taunting him. “Going to goad a demon, brother?” he asked with an ugly sneer. The man yelled and swung at Altair. Altair twisted out of the way and in a move that was too beautiful to be that deadly flipped the sword out of the man’s hand and hacked into his side. The man screamed and fell as blood poured from his side.

The other Assassins were either gone or yelling, crying for blood. Some, who had a grip on the situation, had gone to find the traitor, but those with even more sense ordered everyone to stay. And they’d all seen what Altair had done, killing two men in the span of only a few seconds. Altair wiped his sword on the robes of the dead man, as the other was still alive, if barely, and was crying. He saw Altair twitching, and when Malik took hold of his arm as he sheathed his sword he saw his eyes were dilated. “Deep breathes Altair,” he said softly. This was what Altair was like when in the grips of killing lust.

“It’s to small in here,” he breathed back.

“You’re in the open, you need to pull it together. The Order is watching.”

“The Order,” Altair repeated and blinked several times breathing heavily out of his nose.

“Calm down.”

Altair smiled at him, “See Malik, this is the calmest I’ve been since I killed Azrael,” and his voice was amazingly steady. He straitened at that, pushing Malik’s hand off him. “BE. SILENT!” he thundered abruptly. The entire Order suddenly became hushed and turned to him, those with their hoods down staring, wide eyed, startled. Altair was usually so soft spoken, perhaps not kind, but quiet, saying little, preferring to watch. “Better,” he said and with a grunt tore one arrow out of his shoulder, and then the other. “Let this be a lesson to whoever decided to do this,” and he threw the arrows down, his voice carrying across the grounds. “I do not die easy and when I find you, for mark my words, _I_ _will find you_ ,” and a shutter rippled through the Order, “you will regret the day your mother birthed you into this world, for to strike the Mentor is to strike the entire Order. You dishonor yourself, your brothers, and your family. A man without honor has no place in this Order, for this is a Brotherhood, and brothers do not _kill each other._ ” he looked down at the bodies at his feet with something akin to sorrow. “That is what we have come from. What _Azrael_ did to us. Do you wish for such bloodshed again?” he demanded, and of course there was no answer. “When I find out who did this justice will not be merciful, and all those involved will feel the same pain. So make your bed now, for soon you will be sleeping in it,” and then he pulled his hood up, “I am watching,” he ended darkly, voice as black as his robes and then he stepped down from the stage. The men parted before him like the Red Sea as if afraid to touch him, afraid to even look at him. Or maybe they were in awe. Awe or fear, the emotions were so similar it was almost impossible to tell the difference at times, like now.

Malik followed him quickly as he walked into the fortress. He grabbed Jari as they left the perimeter, “Find us a doctor, we’ll be in the Master’s room,” he said quietly. “And _find Haytham_ ,” he said even softer. Jari nodded, pale faced and as soon as Malik let him go darted away.

Altair walked up the stairs with Malik as a shadow and once they reached a certain level Malik let him go on alone. Munahid was there almost instantly. “Malik-

“Don’t,” Malik held up his hand, “Listen,” Munahid nodded. “Have some men clean up the stage. I know one of them was alive, have him treated, we will interrogate him, but we can’t do that if he’s dead,” as he spoke Rauf and several other Masters approached. He spoke to them now as well. “Keep the other calm, let no one out of the castle gates-

“They’re already closed Grand Dai,” one said.

“Good, keep them closed until I or the Grandmaster say. Tell the novices to stay in their rooms. Punishment for disobeying is the normal,” they nodded. “Make sure the other Dais are escorted to their rooms, _make sure they stay there_ ,” more nodding. “Try and keep the Order calm and-

“Grand Dai, a doctor,” Jari suddenly appeared with a man, one of theirs. Malik let them both by and they bounded up the stairs to the Grandmaster’s suite.

“Maintain order and whoever is out hunting our brother who shot those arrows is to see me _immediately_ ,” there was no room for any argument, even if there had been there wouldn’t be. He was Grand Dai now, his word was law. “Go,” and he waved them away, “Munahid,” he said before the man could leave.

“Yes Grand Dai?”

“I need a group of those loyal to us. Very loyal. I’m going to instigate a curfew, starting today and-

“GET OUT!”

They both looked up at Altair’s roar. “Go, I will find these men,” Munahid and ran off. Malik took the stairs three at a time.

“Grandmaster it’s just-

“Out! Out! Out!” Altair yelled.

“Altair!” Malik yelled right over him as he appeared in the doorway, Jari and the doctor standing just inside. “Sit down, novice,” he ordered, voice like a whip. Altair stiffened, twitched and then, to Jari and the doctor’s amazement, sat in the chair at the desk. “Good. Now do as the doctor says,” he said sternly.

Altair nodded only one, jaw tight and Malik closed the door behind him. He looked strait at Malik and then his eyes flicked to the bedroom, then back at Malik. So quickly he thought he’d imagined it. Why would Altair look there-

Malik walked past the three of them as the doctor told Altair to remove his clothing so he could see the wound, which was staining his shirt red, and went into the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, cross-legged and shaken, was Haytham. “M-Malik,” he squeaked when he saw Malik. “Is Altair all right?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” Malik said gently and walked over to the young man, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t know about the swordsmen, I swear,” he cried in a whisper.

“Shh,” Malik shushed gently, “I believe you,” and Haytham looked greatly relieved. “What was that second arrow?”

“I-it wasn’t mine. Abbas had a second bowman, in case I missed no doubt. I shot the first one, and then he shot the second. Then I shot him from across the courtyard, he’s dead, or wounded enough to be dead by now. I didn’t know about those other two… oh God,” and he pressed his hands to his face. “I’m sorry, I should have known.”

“Peace, Haytham, I know if you’d known you would have told us. There was nothing you could do,” he said. “Did you come here after the chaos?”

“Yes, I knew they’d be looking for me. So I came to the one place they couldn’t come. I knew it’d be empty during the ceremony and the next people to come here would be you and Altair and I just-

Malik put a hand over his mouth, he was scared, and rambling. “Everything is going to be all right Haytham,” he promised, and trembling slightly, Haytham nodded. “They’ll find the other bowman’s body and think it was him. You’ll be clear.” Haytham nodded again, “You can stay here for now, it’s safe here as you know. Now you’re pale and look like you’re about to feint so I’m going to suggest you rest.”

“But-

“Haytham, are you seriously going to question the Grand Dai?”

After a second Haytham gave a sort of relieved smile, “No, of course not Grand Dai,” he bowed his head.

“Good, now get some rest, you can use the bed, Altair won’t have need of it for a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” and Malik grabbed a new change to clothes for Altair as Haytham pulled off his armor and weapons with trembling hands. This was not the first man Haytham had been sent to kill and he knew the young man could handle killing someone. But it was the fear of being ripped apart by the Order that made him shake.

Malik reentered the main room. Ehan had come in and when he saw Malik walked to him quickly. “I don’t know where Haytham is,” he whispered.

“He’s here, he’s safe. Little shaken,” Malik whispered back.

“May I? I’ve been worried. He’s like a little brother to me,” Ehan frowned worriedly.

“Once the doctor leaves,” Malik said.

“Thank you,” Ehan nodded.

“So?” Malik asked louder now.

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor proclaimed as he finished tying off Altair’s new white bandages.

“Good,” Malik said and pushed the clothes at Altair and with only a slight wince he pulled them on.

“I trust you know how to change bandages Master?” the doctor asked him.

“All Dais do,” he agreed.

“Good, then I can trust you to do so before he goes to sleep tonight, and when he wakes up tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure it gets done,” Malik nodded.

“All right. That’s all I can do really, the salve will work as it should but all that can be done now it wait. Thankfully the holes weren’t as deep as they could have been thanks to the armor,” he nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Call me if you need me, but I doubt you will,” and the doctor felt several rolls of bandages. As soon as the door was closed Malik nodded at Ehan and the other man went to check on Haytham.

“I thought you didn’t give speeches,” Malik said, hand on his hip.

“I was quite moved,” Jari put in.

“I am going to rip Abbas’ heart out,” Altair growled.

His words seemed to scare Jari, “Breathe,” Malik said and Altair breathed in deeply through his nose. “He’s made his move and you are still the Grandmaster. He won’t move again for some time, as his powerful allies will be leaving Masyaf. And you know Abbas, he’s a coward and needs someone to tell him he’s doing something correctly.”

“I don’t know why we can’t strike now,” Altair muttered.

“We can’t now because of what happened today. You’ve given your warning to him. He’ll lay low for a while, and what did you say, that brothers do not kill brothers.”

“I also said that men without honor are not worthy of being our brothers.”

“Some people would say you were without honor not so long ago-

“Do not preach to me Malik!” Altair snapped. “I just got shot twice in my off hand arm. I am in no mood to be patronized or lectured. Where is Haytham?”

“He’s in your bedroom, and he didn’t shoot you twice. There was another bowman. He’s dead now though.”

“Shame. I would have liked to kill him,” Altair said in almost a sing song voice, head bobbing back and forth on his neck a little. Jari looked disturbed now this was not the Altair he was used to.

“Altair. You need to calm down,” Malik told him.

“I am calm,” Altair said. “I am so calm I could fall into a coma. See,” he held his hand out, horizontal and level, it didn’t shake at all. In fact it was amazingly steady. “You’re trying to put a demon into an angel’s set of wings Malik,” and then he rubbed his face.

Malik almost hit him, “Not all angels are good Altair,” was all he said. “Most of them are fierce warriors who do bad things for good reasons.”

“Which I don’t give a crap about. I do bad things for bad reasons, for good reason, for no reason. I mean look at-“ he cut himself off. Malik had no idea what he’d been about to say. Altair rubbed his face again before standing up and walking over to the window and falling into the pillows. Sawsan climbed out of the box and went to him, jumping up onto his right shoulder and rubbing against him.

“I-is he always like that?” Jari asked suddenly, quietly so Altair couldn’t hear.

“Like what? Stupid? Temperamental? Childish? You must be more specific Jari.”

“I was going to _terrifying_ actually.”

“After a fight, yes, he is. I’ve seen him worse. He’s also upset and is throwing a tantrum about it,” he called the last part at Altair who just threw a few cursed at him.

“No wonder some of our brothers call him… well, a demon,” Jari said carefully.

“He’s just a man.”

“He didn’t look like one today,” he said as the bedroom door opened.

“Is he okay?” Malik asked Ehan.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I convinced him to go to sleep. He was a bit panicked about it being on Altair’s bed but,” he glanced at Altair who was absorbed with Sawsan. “He probably won’t be using it tonight after this, will he?”

“Probably not,” Malik agreed and beckoned to the two men, leading them out the room. Once the door was closed he said, “There are probably going to be men coming to see us. I’m going to be in my rooms. One of you stand by Altair’s door, the other by mine. Whoever comes to speak to Altair send them to me. Understood?”

“Yes Master,” they nodded.

“To anyone who asks, Altair is sleeping and if they insist upon seeing him you may draw your sword and get me, immediately,” more nodding. “Don’t hurt them though, there has already been enough bloodshed for today,” they nodded once more and with only a glance at each other decided who would stand by which door.

“Malik,” Jari asked as he walked the few paces down to Malik’s door. “Is it true?”

“You’ll have to be more specific Jari,” Malik sighed, already feeling tired and knowing he needed to brew some tea for a headache he was getting.

“Diyari is going to be the Dai of Aleppo,” he stared unerringly at Malik.

“Yes. He is.”

“Oh,” and there was a strange sadness in his tone.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. Just… he’s my friend, I will be sad to see him go,” and Jari swallowed heavily.

Malik looked him over a moment, searching for whatever Jari wasn’t saying. He didn’t find it. “Knock when someone needs to see me,” he opened his door, “Oh,” he leaned back out before closing his door, “One of you, I don’t care who, find a novice, tell them to bring me hot water for tea.”

“Yes Master,” Jari said with a nod, and then Malik closed the door. Less then five minutes later his first visitor arrived. It was going to be a long rest of the day.

—

The entire thing calmed down within a few days. Which Malik was thankful for. After the first night Haytham was sent back to his own rooms. It was only because the Order had been given a body to blame for the arrows that had hit Altair that they even allowed themselves to not be whipped up into a storm. A curfew was still enforced though and Malik had men Munahid trusted to lead the watches that made sure no one broke curfew. Punishment for breaking curfew was strict, you got thrown into the dungeon and questioned, which meant the brothers who specialized in torture and interrogation were allowed to work.

The survivor of the stupid rush was also in the dungeon and they were waiting for him to be mostly conscious before Malik let the dungeon brothers at him. They were champing at the bit though, eager to make the one who would attack Altair scream. Malik had wondered briefly, when he saw the naked delight in their eyes at given work if Altair wouldn’t have made a good torturer. He probably would have, but he didn’t have the patience for it, he would have grown restless. Those who were in the dungeon were patient and very good at their jobs.

Malik had not slept the first night after the attack. Even when no more visitors came he couldn’t rest. He found Altair curled up on the pillows under the window when he went to go change his bandages, sleeping, surrounded by cats. He let him sleep and paced his own room until the sun was rising and he almost immediately started getting visitors again.

He was glad when it settled. Three days after the ceremony.

Malik sat heavily in his chair at the main desk. Altair was not with him, he was doing… something. He didn’t know. He was tired and needed rest, it had been such a long week and the Dais would be leaving soon (thank god). They would start leaving tomorrow now that the orders had been made official and several men were being promoted as well. Jari, and Ehan had been given a higher rank, Haytham had ‘seemingly’ been ignored, and Munahid had been given the title of Master. Several others had stepped up in rank as well, including Gur, Diyari, and Abdul Batin. A pigeon had been sent to Hama about Dean’s new rank and someone would be sent along with his new robes. The rest of the bureaus and the other kingdoms they had men in had been sent birds as well, announcing that there was a new Mentor and the circumstances of a Grand Dai. The messages were short though, longer letters were being written now by novices and would be sent out later.

He rubbed his eyes and poured himself another cup of tea to fight the near permanent head ache he had. It was rather late actually, he was done for the day. One last thing though, just one.

He motioned to a guard standing a short ways away. “Fetch me the novices Raafe, Jarib and Kamal,” he said tiredly. The guard nodded and was gone quickly. As Malik waited for them to come, as well as for his tea to seep Malik went over his notes again. Since he’d first met with the boys he’d given them some more tests, but in the end both he and Altair had agreed on one to be Altair’s scribe. Altair had been so difficult about it but eventually he’d broken and just allowed it.

The three novices appeared a few moments later. Jarib and Raafe wore their hoods down, but Kamal kept his up, as he always did. “Safety and peace, Master,” they said with a little bow.

Malik was too tired for the normal greeting, “Come closer,” he said instead, beckoning them. They glanced at each other but stepped forward. “Closer,” he beckoned again, “I’m not going to bite you and I am tired of talking loudly today,” indeed he was speaking rather softly. Not to be secretive, but because he had been doing a lot of talking this past week, a lot of ordering, and he needed a rest. He wouldn’t get it, not for a while at least.

“There,” Malik nodded when they were right up against the desk. “Now. When we first met I said I needed a special novice,” they nodded, “I and the Grandmaster have chosen that one,” he looked at each one in turn. “The two I don’t pick, I have other work for you, so don’t be disheartened,” more nodding. “Kamal, you’re the one the Grandmaster chose,” and Kamal’s lips curled into a smile. “We’ll go over your duties in a moment,” he turned to the other two. “Raafe, you have a very good grasp on the Order, I’m pretty sure I could point to any brother and you’d be able to name him and his rank,” Raafe puffed out his chest a little. “I know you are clever, but your cleverness lies in your tongue and quick feet more then your mind,” and he beckoned to someone behind them.

“This is Haytham,” Malik said as the boys turned to the Assassin who had come up behind them silently. “He has a very special skill set that most of our brothers do not. He is your new master. You answer to him first before anyone save me and the Mentor, is that understood?”

“Yes,” Raafe nodded, looking back at Haytham as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Good. Go with him,” and he waved Raafe away. Haytham put a hand on the teen’s shoulder and led Raafe away, with a slight smile on his face, a kind one. Malik knew they would need more people like Haytham in the future. The world was changing and so was war and sensibilities. Public assassinations were going to be phased out, they were messy, and gave the Order a bad reputation as murderers.

He turned to Jarib, “Jarib, you’re very smart. Almost too smart for your own good,” Jarib had the humility to blush a little. “But the Order needs smart people. In a few years power is going to change within the order. Our Dais are old, and the roads home are long and full of swords. I’m sending you to Aleppo with Diyari, the new Dai. You will be his rafiq, and he will be your master. Perhaps one day you will be made Dai, as Dean was when Abyan stepped down,” Jarib looked about to explode, or maybe start crying. “Go talk with Diyari, he knows you’re coming,” and the boy practically fell over his own too feet as he did as he was bid.

“And you,” Malik turned to Kamal.

“Me,” he agreed.

“You’re not the smartest, or cleverest novice I’ve ever seen. But Altair likes you, and you are adaptable.”

“We tend to be, sir,” Kamal said, hands behind his back. Malik smiled a bit, this was true, Armenians were known for adapting to new things as they were often occupied by other countries.

“Good,” Malik nodded. “Now you will have a great deal of responsibility, which is also why you were picked, since Raafe and Jarib can become a bit… hot under the collar,” and Kamal smiled, obviously he knew. “You are to be Altair’s assistance in it’s most obvious term. You’ve seen his writing, he can’t write well, and he has trouble reading. Up till now I and some others have been helping him, this will be your job now. You’ll write everything he requires, transcribe everything he does manage to write and when he needs it you’ll read his messages as well and say them back to him. If he tells you to do something you’re to do it, even if it seems unreasonable.”

“What do you mean by that Master?” Kamal asked.

“He’ll think of something I’m sure. For a while he’ll just be trying to give himself an excuse to convince me to excuse you.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Kamal said firmly.

“Good to hear. This is a big responsibility Kamal and you’ll be in important meetings with us as well. You are not to speak of anything that goes on in them, nor are you to speak of anything that goes on at this desk or in the Master’s rooms,” Kamal nodded. “If we find you’ve shared secrets, we will kill you,” and Kamal swallowed thickly. “Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, Master,” he said.

“Your duties may expand as time goes on. But for now you are to just act as scribe,” Kamal nodded and Malik sipped his tea, the water was tepid. “Good. Your duties begin tomorrow, you’re to be down here as soon as breakfast is over. Even if I or the Grandmaster is not here. Wait,” Kamal nodded quickly. “Now off with you, my day is over,” Kamal gave him a slight smile and then scrambled off.

Malik got up from his chair with a groan and stretched. His back cracked and it felt great. He organized the desk, put some more sensitive papers into a lock box on the shelves around the desk and then went up to their rooms.

He was slightly surprised to find Diyari up there with Jari. They were standing by the window, talking in hushed tones, heads close together. Jari glanced up at Malik as he walked by and entered their room, but said nothing.

Altair was already in there, and dinner had already been brought. “Malik,” Altair said, his mouth full of pita. He was wearing half of his black robes, his hood somewhere else, the armors gone and he wasn’t wearing his sleeveless tunic, or his sash, but his flat black robe still hung off his frame. Since the ceremony Altair had gotten a new one. In fact they now both had two of the black robes, which was fine since normal whites were acceptable to wear under them. Altair swallowed the bread, “You look half dead,” he said. Malik sagged into the pillows next to Altair, startling three week old Nadyne who scrambled out the way. “Eat,” Altair insisted and offered Malik some pita with hummus and lamb on it. Malik just ate it strait out of his hand. Altair flushed slightly.

“I’m almost too tired to eat,” Malik groaned and lay back and against Altair. Altair brushed his fingers through his hair. “Too much moving.”

“You’ll be wishing you ate later, so do so,” and now he offered a grape leaf. Malik ate that one out of Altair’s hand too. “What, am I to feed you like some maiden?” Altair scoffed.

“I doubt I’m pretty enough to be a maiden,” Malik said and they both chuckled, “But you _are_ closer,” he added as Altair pushed some thinly sliced sausage into his mouth. Altair honestly didn’t see too upset about feeding him and did so, also batting away kittens as they sniffed at their food and even scolding Sawsan when she managed to snag a piece of mutton.

“The Dais are leaving tomorrow,” Altair said.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Altair nodded, “I talked with some of them. Most are ready to go home. They decided to leave at the same time, safety in numbers and all that.”

“Huh,” was all Malik could say as he was chewing. “Well, that’ll make our lives a bit easier,” and Altair nodded in agreement.

“Malik,” Altair said, running his fingers through his hair affectionately. Malik grunted, “When can I kill Abbas?” he asked bluntly.

“Not till he messes up.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps last week put it into perspective for him. He’s no match for you,” Altair smirked cockily at that. “Haytham is still watching him. We’ll know his every move, and when he makes a move, you’ll be there.”

“He will not like what he meets,” Altair said darkly. And then in an abrupt change of character leaned over and nuzzled him, Malik put his hand on the side of his face, his thumb stroking his cheek gently.

“No, I doubt he will _habibi,_ ” Malik said softly and Altair pressed a kiss to his cheek.


	14. Seedlings From the Soil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this chapter is different from the last... 13. This is a sort of 'in between' chapter from 'part one' (what you just read) and 'part two' which is taking place after some time.
> 
> Lots of trigger warnings for this chapter. Warnings for bullying, mentions of child abuse (though it's only abuse in our time. Was totally legit back then to smack the fuck out of kids), rape, beatings, and... I think that's it.

It always starts as small things really. He’d barely noticed it had happened, but isn’t how these sorts of things always turned out? You never expected for things like this to turn out the way they did, you were a leaf in the river of fate it seemed. That was the only explanation he could think for how this had happened, or why else would the world be so cruel to him?

The Master had been in his room for a while now. Jari didn’t know what he was doing in there, he figured Malik had let him go though. He wouldn’t have let the Master go without permission, he knew that, hell the Master knew that. So he hadn’t gone down to find the Grand Dai when the Master had slipped into his rooms. He didn’t look particularly guilty to be shrinking his duties so it was okay. Not that the Master looked guilty often. Hell, Jari couldn’t even tell what the Master was feeling a good deal of the time. He was an enigma with a mask like porcelain that never gave away what he was feeling. Sometimes Jari wished he could hide his emotions as well as the Master did.

An hour or two passed, dinner was approaching. Ehan would come relieve him after dinner and the thought made his stomach rumble. He was hungry _now_. His brows went up with Diyari came up the stairs with a tray of what was very obviously the Masters’ dinner. He was already dressed in his dark and patterned robes of his Dai-ship. “You’re doing novice work now?” Jari asked, teasing him.

“I thought I’d come up here one last time,” he sighed, coming up to him, “Door,” he motioned to the door, as his hands were full. Jari knocked and announced that dinner had come, Altair bid Diyari to enter. He was inside for only a few moments before he was back, wiping his hands on his pants. “I also wanted to see you. I’m going to meet my new rafiq,” he smiled slightly, “Rabi didn’t have any.”

“I hope he does you good,” Jari said simply.

Diyari frowned at him, “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course. I’m happy for you,” he said.

“You’re an awful liar, Jari, have I told you that?”

“I can lie fine,” Jari huffed moodily and folded his arms over his chest.

“Mhmm,” Diyari said, “And that’s why you aren’t upset, at all.”

“I’m not. Upset I mean,” Jari shrugged.

“Will you miss me?”

Jari stared at Diyari as if he’d just asked him another question instead, one that hurt a bit more then he was willing to think about. It was the little things wasn’t it? The quirk of his lips when he smiled. The way he handled a knife in his long fingers. The way he laughed at Jari’s bad jokes and Ehan’s even worse ones. The subtle curve of his jaw, which was soft even though he was the same age as Jari and Ehan, and the two thin scars on in front of his left ear that had a thousand different stories, none of which were probably true. His easy camaraderie, sometimes staying up here with Jari when he was on night watch, as Jari did when he had night watch, telling stories, joking, ignoring the fact that the Grand Dai didn’t leave the Mentor’s rooms at night, and just trying to keep each other awake until Ehan or Haytham would relieve them, at least until Haytham had been given other purpose. Jari would miss it all.

“Of course I will, you’re my friend,” he said and clasped his hand on Diyari’s shoulder. “Better then that steel wall Ehan. Or serious Munahid,” and Diyari’s lips quirked in the way he smiled without showing it.

“Well good. I was afraid you’d forget me,” said the other man as the Grand Dai came upstairs. Jari glanced at him but then was looking back at Diyari.

“Never,” he promised as the Grand Dai entered the room without knocking. He was the only one who could enter without knocking. “We’ve been through _waaaay_ too much for me to even hope to forget any of you,” he meant Diyari, as well as Ehan, Haytham, and Munahid, even Seif and Zev, though they were both gone now.

“Yeah,” he pulled out of Jari’s grip and hoisted himself up onto the windowsill. He winced a little as he did so. The wound he’d suffered during the coup had healed, but it still pained him sometimes, and the arm would never be what it was. “Though I’m glad to be going to Aleppo. I’ll actually be some use there,” he motioned with his bad arm as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

“You’re a help here too,” Jari pointed out.

“Barely. The Masters have been good to me, but the Grandmaster asked me if I’d prefer something more… restful, instead of this,” he motioned to the castle as a whole.

“I always thought he just decided on his own,” Jari said, arms folded again, standing just in front of Diyari’s knees.

Diyari chuckled, “No. He’s really much smarter then people give him credit for. He asked first. I figured, why not?” Yes, of course. Why not? The position of Dai was highly sought after by many, though not all. It was a rank above just about any brother, as only the Mentor could order them. “But now—

“But now?” Jari asked, curious.

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. “I’ve never done something like this. And I’m going to be responsible for a kid, some novice who’s going to be my rafiq,” he rubbed his face, where he was starting to grow a beard. It was customary for Dais and rafiqs to grow out their facial hair, while most warriors kept themselves shaved, or at least kept their beards short and tight to their jaws, for a beard was something to grab onto in a fight. Said it made them look more ‘scholarly’. With Diyari’s young features though he sort of looked like a boy who hadn’t learned how to shave yet. “And well… I’m having second thoughts.”

“You sound like a bride before a wedding,” Jari teased. Diyari smiled and looked away bashfully. Jari laughed, but not too loudly.

“I’ll be of use there, like I can’t be here, but—“ he rubbed his face, “I’ll miss you,” he said looking no where else but at Jari. He didn’t mention Ehan, Munahid, or even Haytham. He’d miss _him_.

Jari shifted a little, almost uncomfortable, “Well it’s not like you’re going someplace so far like Qamishli, or even Jerusalem,” he said.

“Aleppo is still far,” he leaned back on the sill, supported by his arms. He could only hold it with both arms for a few second before he folded his left hand into his lap when it started to shake. Jari frowned. “It’s nothing,” Diyari said.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” his arms tightened across his chest as he thought about Diyari having to move to a new city with just a novice and a hurt arm.

“It comes and goes. It’s just been acting up today because I’m stressed about leaving tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your arm.”

“You’re silly. It isn’t your fault, I was the clumsy one who had a bad habit of leaving his left side open,” had, past tense. Diyari couldn’t really fight anymore. He was right handed, but the left was just as important, and it was weak. He knew it was no excuse, as the Grand Dai could fight just as well with one arm as he could with two, but there was a difference between not having an arm and having a weak one. Diyari frowned at the look on Jari’s face, “Don’t tell me you feel guilty.”

“I was the one who brought you to the infirmary after the fight,” Jari said, “I probably could have done more.”

“You’re being dumb,” Diyari told him sternly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he leaned forward and laid his hand on Jari’s folded arms. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s Azrael’s, and Altair already made him suffer for my arm and everything else he did. So don’t blame yourself.”

“All right,” Jari nodded.

“Good,” he nodded. “I should probably go and find my new rafiq. The Grand Dai came up a bit ago, he said he’d send him before dinner,” and he made to slide off the sill.

Jari put his hands on his thighs, stopping him, a slight panic rising in his throat, “Don’t go,” he said.

“Jari, what are you-

“I don’t want you to go,” his chest hurt in a way it shouldn’t. “I don’t want you to go to Aleppo, or leave me here.” And then he probably screwed it all up by leaning forward and kissing the new Dai. It was no doubt a mistake, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Diyari go, he didn’t _want_ him to go. But really, it was the little things that made all the difference didn’t it? He was surprised, but no less pleased, when Diyari wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him back. Jari pushed him back so he back met the stone grill across the window and kept one hand braced on the Dai’s thigh, the other fisted the front of his shirt.

They only pulled apart when it was obvious they couldn’t breathe anymore, “Don’t go,” Jari said softly again, wondering if he sounded like he was begging.

Diyari looked away, hands on his shoulders, “It’s done,” he said, voice deceptively flat, but the new Dai was not the best at hiding his true feelings. “I’m leaving for Aleppo in the morning.”

“I wish I could come with you,” Jari said softly, putting his forehead on Diyari’s. He couldn’t. He was stationed here.

“I wish you could come with me too,” and Diyari kissed him gently again, it seemed to last forever but was over far too soon. “I’ll see you again. I’m only going to Aleppo, it’s a busy city and the Masters won’t need you as a guard forever.”

Jari sighed and closed his eyes, “It’s so far away though.”

Diyari held his face, but said nothing. Then, after several moments of silence in which they tried to hold onto the last moments he said, “I have to go find my rafiq. He still has to pack too.”

Jari swallowed thickly, “Yes, of course,” and he stepped back so Diyari could finally slide off the sill. He adjusted his robes a bit so they lay on his shoulders properly. Once he did he gave Jari a hug and Jari didn’t want to let him go, but he did, because he still had responsibilities, because Diyari did too, and because no matter how much he didn’t want it Diyari was leaving. When they released each other Diyari headed back downstairs.

“Diyari,” he called before he could get too far away, standing at the top of the stairwell. Diyari turned on the stairs and looked back up at him curiously. “Come back to me,” he said, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

The new Dai smiled at him, “I will. I always will,” and then he turned back around and continued down the stairs. Once he was gone Jari pulled up his hood and went to go sit in the chair by the door, head bowed. He sat there, gripping his knees for a long time, waiting for Ehan to come and relieve him. He refused to cry. Funny how something so small, one little kiss, could change everything. The world really was cruel.

—

Even though he was young, Raafe’s new master was very skilled. The Grand Dai had been right, master Haytham had a very different set of skills then their brothers. Master Haytham didn’t care that he had poor aim, or that he wasn’t the best sword fighter. Crossbows if he couldn’t wield a bow, and quick feet for getting out of a sword fight. What his master cared about was what he could remember, how quick he could climb, how fast he could run and for how long, and how quiet he could move.

His new master also didn’t fight like a normal brother. He could fight with a sword, Raafe had seen that, and he could shoot a bow with an accurate arrow, and he could use all sorts of weapons. But his master preferred other ways to fight. The first week Haytham showed him a collection of poisons. Raafe had, unthinkingly, said that only cowards used poison.

His master had beaten him for that.

He’d learned to keep his mouth shut from then on.

By the end of the month Raafe knew the names of every poison his master had shown him and their components, as well as the theory on how to make them. His master never let him touch them though, he said he didn’t want Raafe to get sick, or die, not until he knew. Along with the poisons came more intense training then Raafe had ever had in his life. He was used to the ridged training all novices had, but this was something else. His master expected a lot from him and Raafe wanted to prove himself. Most of it was endurance training, making him faster, to do without thinking and to know the answer the first time. When he messed up Haytham gave him a smack to the back of the neck, but when he did it correctly, he was praised.

The first time he met Abbas was three months after he started training with his new master. In those three months he’d changed a great deal. Like his master Raafe would rather watch then talk and Haytham had told him that speaking out of turn around Abbas would make him angry. He didn’t want to make master Haytham angry, so he checked his tongue. It was at that meeting that he saw another side of his master. His master was not like the rest of their brothers. He was a snake, and slithered into rat nests before waiting for them to come within striking distance. 

The things that talked about would have made Raafe’s mouth drop open and run to tell the Masters if Haytham hadn’t sent him a look that said ‘be quiet and if you try to run I will kill you.’ So he’d been rooted to the spot as his master had weaved a tale about Raafe and how the Grand Dai had overlooked him in favor of Jarib and Kamal for better positions as a junior rafiq and the scribe of the Mentor. How Raafe was angry about being left behind when he was just as smart and Jarib and just as clever as Kamal. Abbas had seemed pleased by this and smiled at Raafe. He’d sort of felt sick when the man smiled at him.

Later that night, as they were eating dinner in his master’s room Haytham said, “What do you think of Abbas?”

Raafe looked at the other man, wondering what he wanted from that question. He knew his master was capable of quite a bit of double talk. Eventually he decided that his master just wanted a strait answer, his actual opinion on the man. “He scares me. Who is he?”

“He, is the man who arranged for the Mentor to be shot three months ago,” and he spooned some stew into his mouth.

Raafe’s mouth fell open. “And you work with him!?” he yelled.

“Shut up and sit down,” Haytham ordered, looking ten years older then he really was, which was really barely more then half a dozen more then Raafe himself. 

“Why would you work with him?” he asked once he’d sat back down.

“Because, I have orders,” he said dipping bread into the stew. “The Grand Dai has me here, just as he has you here with me,” Raafe frowned at him. “It was because of the Grand Dai that most of the things in the Order happen,” he stuffed the soaking bread into his mouth. “He allowed the Mentor to be shot, and made sure I was the one who shot him.”

“W-what?” Raafe stammered. And then listened as he was told about what had happened. “Why would he allow that? What if you missed?”

“Have you ever seen me miss?” Haytham asked, Raafe shook his head. “Me neither, not since I was younger then you at any rate,” he glanced Raafe up and down and Raafe flushed. Raafe knew he wasn’t the best warrior, he was supposed to go into scholarly work before the Grand Dai got ahold of him. “We’ll fix that,” he promised eating more of his stew.

“My instructors have tried.”

“Your instructors have also been distracted by boys who are twice the fighter you are,” Raafe lowered his eyes, “You have my undivided attention. You will get better even if I have to make you shoot arrows until your fingers bleed and knife fight until you can’t move your arms. You aren’t a scholar Raafe.”

“Then what am I? W-what are we?”

“We are shadows. A normal Assassin is a blade in the crowd. We strike without warning and leave bodies in out wake,” he waved his hand and scoffed, “I leave that to those who have a stronger stomach for blood, piss and shit. What we do is not reliant so much on our ability as our ability to move about unseen. You can still pick an Assassin out in a crowd can’t you?” Raafe nodded and stirred his stew. “And you can fight an Assassin can’t you? Kill one even?” again he nodded. “You can’t fight a shadow. You can’t _kill_ a shadow. Your invisibility will be your greatest strength, as will everything up here,” he tapped his temple. “I charmed my way into a snake pit with no one the wiser,” Raafe refrained from saying that his master was the snake. “You will too. That’s what the Grand Dai saw in you, and that’s what I’m going to do with you.”

“And the poison?” he hadn’t brought up the poison other then learning about them.

“Much less messy,” Haytham said. “The Grand Dai approves. You’re the first of a project he has in mind.”

“Really?” he asked, almost excitedly.

“Yes. Not many of our brothers would think of using poison over a blade. But we’re just as deadly, and we have our uses, just like the men in the dungeon,” Raafe tried not to think about them.

“Do you see the Grand Dai often?”

“No. I have a friend, and we trade information. I report to him about Abbas, and he reports to the Masters.”

“Why did I only meet Abbas today?”

“Because. You’ve been my little secret for the past three months. I’ve been making sure you won’t betray me, or run away when you’re unsure,” and Raafe swallowed, remembering earlier that day when he’d wanted to go tell. “Also I didn’t want Abbas to get his claws into you,” Haytham smiled at him. Really his master was usually a nice guy, he was just rather serious at times. Though he did worry about Raafe too, like he’d seen when Raafe had fallen from the top of a building. His master had been near beside himself, at least as far as he would show, right after swearing at Raafe up and down about being incompetent.

Raafe ate his dinner, his master not saying more. He figured the conversation was over. “Ask whatever question you have,” master Haytham finally sighed, shredding bread into hew stew.

“I wasn’t-

“Novice, I know you very well by now. It’s what I do. Now ask your question,” his master said.

Raafe hesitated a moment before he asked, “You said I was the start of a new project by the Grand Dai. What sort of project?”

Master Haytham picked at the pieces of bread in his mostly empty bowl, which had absorbed most of what remained of his stew. “With each new Grandmaster there are new rituals or tests  tried out, new positions created and new people put into old positions. Like the new Dais,” and Raafe mentally listed them; Dean, Gur, Abdul Batin, and Diyari. “This is a new program the Grand Dai wants to try out. He wants more men like me. Ones who are a bit slippery, and work in the shadows. We have different uses then our more forward and blunt brothers, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now. You’re the first, to see if someone else can learn what I’ve learned myself, through mostly trial and error. If you go well, you may have your own breed of brothers one day.”

Raafe stared at him, floored. He’d never heard of such a thing but… it sounded amazing. “It I do well?”

“If I think my skills were adequately passed on. If not, project’s scrapped and we didn’t waste too many novices on something that won’t work.”

“I won’t let you down,” Raafe said quickly.

Master Haytham looked at him quietly across the table. After a moment he smiled wickedly, “Good, now finish your dinner,” he pointed at the bowl. “Tonight you get to make your first poison,” and as Raafe ate he felt his pulse spike with excitement.

—

It was only the first week and Kamal was about to have a serious nervous breakdown. He shut himself in the room he shared with three other novices, locking even them out and huddled on his bed fighting back tears. He was trying so hard! Didn’t that count for anything?

To the Grandmaster apparently it didn’t.

Someone was knocking on the door. “Who’s in there? Why’s the door locked?” Kamal didn’t answer and pressed his face into his pillow. “Hey. Open the door. This is my room.”

“Go away Abdul,” he called back to his roommate, Abdul Wahid, a big boned boy with too much muscle for his age and a head like a pile of horse shit. He was big and strong, but had a quarter of the brains Kamal did. He always picked on Kamal because he was smaller then the others, and quiet, preferring to watch and learn, then pick fights. Abdul Wahid took that to mean that Kamal thought he was better then everyone else.

“Kamal? You little shit, open the door!” Abdul yelled. Kamal didn’t move. He knew he’d get beaten up for this infraction. Rally Abdul didn’t need an excuse to beat Kamal up, but he always liked to have one, in case the instructors actually cared where Kamal had gotten this or that bruise. Eventually Abdul left, after yelling through the door a bit more.

Once Kamal was sure the big boy was gone he unlocked the door and then crawled out the window with his pillow and blanket. There was a ledge a few feet to the right of the window. Kamal had slept out here more then once, and he was small enough to still fit, most of the rest of his class had hit their growth spurts and were shooting up at insane rates. Some boys needing new clothes every four or five months. Kamal was still small and could still fit on the ledge. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and put his pillow on the ledge and tried to go to sleep. He had to wake up early tomorrow to help the Mentor.

He went to sleep that night with silent tears streaming down his face. The Grandmaster was so cruel. He hoped it got better.

It didn’t. Weeks passed and the Mentor kept giving him ridiculous orders that Kamal had to try to do. Even Kamal’s translations of the Mentor’s script was not good enough, he knew they weren’t the best, but the Master made him redo them over and over again and he was often writing until his fingers cramped. Nothing made him happy and Kamal only knew because of the Grand Dai that he hadn’t been excused on sight the first day. The Master hated that he had a scribe. Not that he hated Kamal, but he disliked having to need one.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have other lessons, and he could focus entirely on whatever task the Grandmaster gave him. But he was starting to lose it. Most nights he went to sleep with ink stained fingers and faced the wall so his roommates wouldn’t see his tears. He thought about asking the Grand Dai if he could go back to being just a novice and become a scholar like he’d been slotted to being before being chosen.

He also had to deal with Abdul. That didn’t help. At all. Abdul was a bully and Kamal was his favorite target for being small, quiet, and unlikely to tattle. Because if he ratted out Abdul he’d forever be the boy who turned in his fellow novice.

It was one night when Kamal had locked himself in his room again, curled up on his cot. The doorknob jiggled. “Who the hell-“ he heard Abdul and quickly got off the bed and went to unlock the door, tugging his hood down low over his face to hide his eyes. As soon as the door was unlocked Abdul Wahid slammed the door open, and Kamal flinched. “So,” the bigger boy sneered. “It was you again,” and he shoved Kamal back. He stumbled back, grabbing onto the bedpost to avoid falling onto his butt. “You should learn to not lock the door Kamal.”

“Sorry,” Kamal muttered.

“What did you say?” Abdul growled.

“Sorry,” he said louder.

“I don’t want to hear your stupid sorrys, pygmy,” Kamal felt his ears burn red. “You should know better. Who do you think you are? Huh,” and he shoved Kamal again. Kamal fell onto the bed he was holding onto. “You’re nothing. Just a little pygmy who gets to be the Grandmaster’s whipping boy,” the burn spread to his cheeks. “Too shitty a fighter to be a real Assassin. Or even smart enough to be a scholar. The Grand Dai must have pitied you when he let you anywhere near our Master.”

“Shut up,” Kamal said, swallowing. Anger running through his veins. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. He glared at Abdul Wahid from under the brim of his round hood.

Abdul paused, “What did you say to me?” he growled darkly.

“I said. Shut. Up,” Kamal said, standing up, his anger at Abdul banishing any of his previous depression. “You’re just jealous the Grand Dai didn’t pick you. Not that he ever would. You’re too stupid to-

Abdul Wahid struck him. Hard. He reeled and crashed to the floor. The bigger boy was on him in the next instant, beating into him. He tried to defend himself but Abdul was bigger then him in every way and pinned his hands with his knees. So Kamal did the only other thing he could do.

He started to scream.

It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like a life time as Abdul beat into his face and body before several others were wrestling Abdul off of him. Kamal turned over on his side, curling up miserably. He could hear boys, older then himself or Abdul, shoving Abdul away, telling him to back off, go take a walk, cool down.

“Hey. Hey,” Kamal whimpered when someone gently shook him. “Hey,” they said again and Kamal finally looked up. One of the older novices was kneeling beside him. His face was split in who by a huge scar that started at his right eyebrow and sliced across his eye, nose and then ended at the bottom of his left cheek. He’d never seen someone with such a wound before and was amazed he was alive. “Are you okay?” Kamal shook his head.

“Is he okay Rakkim?” someone asked and the older novice looked away from Kamal.

“I’m not sure,” and then the older boy, Rakkim, was looking at him. Gently he pushed back Kamal’s hood so he could see. “No blood,” he said with a nod, “Nose isn’t broken,” he said inspecting Kamal’s face with gentle hands. They were perhaps the kindest hands someone had laid on him in years since his threshing. “Bloody lip though, and some bruising,” his fingers moved to his jaw and applied light pressure. “Jaw’s fine. How’s your breathing?”

“Okay,” Kamal squeaked.

“He’s just roughed up,” Rakkim told whatever boy Kamal couldn’t see.

“Good,” they said. “Does he need to go to the infirmary?”

“I don’t think so,” Rakkim said, hands on his thighs where he kneeled next to Kamal. “C’mon,” and he helped Kamal sit up and then got to his own feet before helping Kamal stand. Rakkim was taller then him, which wasn’t a surprise. Everyone was taller then Rakkim, but he wasn’t like the boys who were his age who hadn’t grown into their height yet and were just sort of awkward in it. Rakkim and his friends were all about seventeen or eighteen, grown, but still novices, maybe journeymen, or almost at least. They had the muscle of their age, a man’s muscle and no doubt the skill to back it up. Kamal was instantly jealous, as he’d never be like these boys. He’d always been a runt, and even when he finally started growing he’d never be as tall as these boys.

“Thank you,” Kamal said.

“It’d be on us if he hurt you too bad,” said Rakkim’s friend. Kamal nodded a bit shakily. Older novices were like the watchers of the youngers. A hall of the younger boys was watched over by three or four rooms of the older boys, which always slowly emptied as they gave their finger and lives in service of the Order. It taught responsibility to the older boys, and saved the task from a full white robed brother, who had better things to do then play nanny to a bunch of children. “You sure he doesn’t need to go see a doctor?”

“Hey, I _am_ a doctor,” Rakkim said, sounding a bit insulted. “He’s fine. It’ll just be some swelling but it shouldn’t be too bad. Unless you want something for it?” Kamal nodded before he realized he was doing. He didn’t want to be alone. What if Abdul came back?! “Okay, c’mon,” and Rakkim beckoned him. Kamal followed after the older boy as they left his room and they walked down the fall to the common room. On one side of the common room was the hall leading to the younger novice’s rooms, like his own. Across the common room was a shorter hallway with no more then six rooms for the older novices. There were always more rooms then older novices, so usually it was two or three to a room, instead of four like with the younger ones.

Rakkim led him into a room and had him sit on one of the two beds before getting a salve from his trunk. He then lightly smeared it on Kamal’s face and other then some wincing did his best to not complain. “Thank you,” Kamal said.

“Of course. Now, you should go back to your room,” Kamal just stared at the door, terrified. “What’s the matter?”

“Abdul’ll hurt me again,” Kamal told the older boy.

Rakkim frowned, “No. He won’t,” Rakkim promised. “You can stay here tonight. But come the morrow you need to be off. Got it?” Kamal nodded. “Good,” and Rakkim smiled broadly at him, his scar pulled at the left side of his mouth, making him look mischievous.

The next morning Kamal reported to the main desk as always. The Grand Dai wasn’t there yet. But the Grandmaster was. Kamal swallowed and pulled his hood down low to hide the bruises. With the Mentor were three cats. An adult tabby with mottled brown and orange fur with a stripe of white down her belly and a white tipped hair, who Kamal had learned was named Sawsan. She belonged to the Mentor. The other two were smaller. One was a near pure pale grey cat with two white socks and a white tipped tail, that was Kadar. The other was a mirror of Sawsan, only smaller; Kanwai.

“Good morning Master,” Kamal bowed to him when he arrived at the desk.

“You’re late,” the Mentor said and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Go get a pot of tea and-“ he paused and Kamal could feel him staring at Kamal’s bowed head. “Look at me,” he ordered. Kamal looked up slowly. He saw the Mentor’s face harden into steel. “What happened?” he demanded and Kamal knew he meant the bruises. He had one on his left cheek and jaw and most of the right side of his face was simply purple, and his bottom lip was still split. On the table he felt Sawsan staring at him. She was a creepy, uncanny feline, more like a person then she had any right to be. Her tail was curled around her feet, looking like a disapproving mother who was about to rip apart someone who’d harmed her kittens. Kamal didn’t answer. “I asked you what happened,” the Mentor said.

“Nothing, sir,” he looked away from Sawsan to the Master. “I fell.”

The Grandmaster settled back into his chair. “You fell?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. On the table Kanwai and Kadar were wrestling.

“Yes, sir,” he nodded.

The Grandmaster eyed him. “Be more careful next time. Now go get me and the Grand Dai our tea,” and with a wave of his hand he was dismissed. Kamal swallowed, nodded and then fled to the kitchens. He felt Sawsan’s eyes on him the entire time.

That night Kamal was wary of going into his room. He’d waited until lights out before finally going to his room, instead staying in the common room with the other novices in his hall. They talked and laughed, joking with each other and played games of luck and chance with dice over chips of wood that stood in for coins. Kamal read a book, keeping his head down, and trying to not be noticed in case Abdul showed up. But eventually he couldn’t avoid it anymore.

He pushed the door open and Abdul was there waiting for him. Their other two roommates weren’t there at the time. One was in the infirmary for breaking his leg during an urban running drill, and the other lived in the library after dinner, to goof around with friends, but he was probably on his way. Kamal swallowed as he looked at Abdul Wahid, sitting on the bed, Kamal’s bed at that. The pillow had been torn apart and the pallet that was his mattress slashed, the filling thrown onto the floor. The blanket was in a knot and looked soaked in water where it sat where Kamal usually put his head. The only thing that hadn’t been vandalized was Kamal’s chest, which he kept locked, and Abdul was an awful lock pick. Kamal felt himself trembling looking at the destruction in his quarter of the room.

Abdul Wahid stood up from Kamal’s bed, sneering, and looking pleased with himself. “Why would you do that?” Kamal asked, voice tight, his fingers gripping the book he had so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Because you’re a little, pompous, camel shit,” Abdul Wahid said with a cruel smirk.

“I’ve never done anything to you,” Kamal said, voice shaking as Abdul walked over to him.

Abdul’s eyes narrowed, “And yet all you do is piss me off,” and Kamal reached for the handle. Maybe Rakkim would let him stay with him again. After the weeks with the Grandmaster this was too much. This was more then anyone should be asked to deal with. As his fingers touched the handle Abdul slammed his hand on the door, startling him into dropping his book, and then Abdul hit him. Against the door there was no where for him to go, but it still somehow knocked him off his feet and he crumpled as he hit the fresh bruise. He gave a strangled little cry as he sank to his knees. “Shut up,” Abdul said fiercely and grabbed him by the hair through his hood. Kamal whimpered as Abdul made him look up and at the bigger boy, trying to raise his head enough so that the pressure on his scalp wasn’t to the point of almost yanking his hair out. “You’re a little shit Kamal. You should know how to treat your betters.”

Some defiant part he had left made him speak, “You are not better then me,” he hissed through the pain. Abdul hit him again and he yelped in pain as the strike connected, but Abdul didn’t release his hair.

“We’ll start with that stupid mouth of yours,” and Kamal winced when Abdul pulled painfully on his hair, making him tip his head back further.

“G-go to hell,” Kamal said and Abdul hit him again, harder this time. He saw stars and tried to cry out in pain when Abdul stepped on both his hands. Not to crush them, but to pin them. Abdul slapped his hand over his mouth before he could scream though. The tension on his scalp didn’t help though and made his eyes water, and made it take longer for his head to clear when Abdul took his hand away.

He felt something press against his face and he opened his eyes, and they widened in shock, terror, and total disgust. Abdul Wahid had his breeches pushed down a bit and his cock out. He blinked up at Abdul, unable to believe what was happening. This had to be a cruel joke. Abdul had his hand around his soft cock and pushed it against his lips, Kamal pushed back and hissed when it made Abdul pull his hair. He refused to open his mouth though, _refused_. “What? Nothing to say now pygmy?” Abdul mocked him.

“Fuck you,” Kamal said through his teeth. Abdul smacked him and then grabbed his face, pinching his jaw apart and for a moment his hand left his hair and held his nose closed. Kamal glared defiantly at him, he wasn’t going to open his mouth. He wasn’t. But he had trouble breathing like this, but he could well enough. Then Abdul put pressure on his hands. His stupid ink stained hands which could never do anything good enough for the Mentor. Why the fuck was his thinking about that now when he was being assaulted? He didn’t know. But the boots on his fingers hurt and he couldn’t help it, he moaned in pain.

He was choking before he had a chance to breathe when Abdul released his face and his cock was being shoved into his mouth and down his throat. He cried out as the bigger boy rocked forward on his hands and he felt a few of his fingers break. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he was unable to breathe and his hands were in unimaginable pain. Abdul moved his hips back and Kamal coughed but the bigger boy had a grip on him again and he managed to at least breathe in before his disgusting cock was being shoved back down his throat.

This time though, this time he was able to think a bit more. And even as Abdul Wahid forced him back against the door he bit down. The next thing that happened was a high pitched scream like a dying rabbit, as Kamal had bit _hard_. Then he could breathe again and Abdul was pulling away, making sure Kamal hadn’t permanently scarred him. Kamal sagged against the door, now released, his hands were mostly broken, some of his fingers bending in wrong directions and he couldn’t move them, and he was coughing, trying to breathe.

“You, little,” apparently he was satisfied that while in pain he was more angry then in pain and Abdul slammed Kamal into the door. Kamal managed to scream before he tried to cover himself, to avoid the worst of the pounding. Abdul still seemed hell bent on either killing him, or beating him black and blue. Kamal was just curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The door was suddenly ripped open. “What is going on in here!?” someone bellowed. It sounded familiar to Kamal but he couldn’t think. All he could think of was the pain.

The beating stopped abruptly and Abdul straddled his fetal form, he cracked one eye. Abdul was gaping at someone in the doorway. “M-Master he assault—

Abdul was suddenly struck so hard he fell right off him. “Oh he did did he?” and now the man stepped into Kamal’s line of sight. It was the Grandmaster! What was he doing here? Distantly Kamal thought he looked like an angry dragon, the tails of his robe like wings and the beak of his hood like a dragon’s snout, all fury and bristling with spines, spikes and all things deadly. “That is not what I have heard Abdul _Wahid_ ,” he said viscously. “If I was not the Grandmaster I would beat you to within an inch of your life for thinking you are better then _my scribe_ , boy,” the Grandmaster spat at him.

“But Master he-

“He what?” the Grandmaster’s voice was like ice. He’d never seen him this angry, except when he’d gotten shot six weeks ago. “I heard two screams from here, and one of them was from you. _What_ did he do?”

Abdul stammered a moment, unable to believe the Grandmaster was standing in their room. “H-he bit me, sir.”

“He bit you?” the Grandmaster looked down at Kamal. “Did you bite him?” he asked. A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder, he looked, it was Rakkim, the older boy helped him sit up. “Kamal. Did you bite him?”

“Yes,” Kamal said softly, cradling his hands, which blazed with pain to match his sore scalp.

“Why?” the Grandmaster’s voice was so frozen and devoid of emotion it made everyone uneasy. Kamal looked at him, and then back at the Grandmaster. He would admit he was afraid of the Grandmaster, but he was a bit more afraid of Abdul. “Answer me truthfully boy,” he growled.

“He assaulted me, Master,” Kamal croaked. “He forced me to my knees and tried to make me pleasure him. I bit his cock.”

They ice in the Grandmaster’s face turned into fire. “He’s lying-

“Be. Quiet,” the Grandmaster said in a low, dangerous, tone and Abdul was silent at once. The Grandmaster turned to some of the older boys in the doorway, “You two, bind him, take him to the dungeons. Tell our brothers there he’s to get the usual punishment for sodomy,” and Abdul paled, the older boys looked ill but nodded and one ran to grab something to tie Abdul Wahid up. The Grandmaster glared at the bigger boy before stepping over to Kamal and crouching. “You,” he said to Rakkim, “who are you?”

“I am Rakkim Haffin, Grandmaster, I’m a junior physician,” Rakkim said.

“Good. What’s his status?” the Grandmaster was very businesslike, but he didn’t look away from Kamal.

“Three broken fingers, at least, they need to be reset,” Kamal hadn’t even noticed if Rakkim had been touching him. He was in so much pain he was numb to it at this point. “Bruised jaw bone, maybe a fractured rib, extensive bruising all over I can see, and probably under his clothes as well.”

The Grandmaster frowned, and then turned when the older boys returned. They hauled Abdul Wahid up roughly and tied his hands behind his back, attaching it to a noose around his neck so he couldn’t really move his arms without suffocating himself and led him out the door to the dungeons. 

“Set his fingers,” the Grandmaster ordered Rakkim and Kamal cried out when Rakkim snapped his fingers back into place and Rakkim wrapped some bandages all around hand, binding the fingers together in the clean linen. “Follow me,” he ordered Rakkim and then gathered Kamal into his arms. Kamal whimpered. It hurt. It _all_ hurt. The Grandmaster picked him up easily, one hand against his back, the other under his knees and rose gracefully to his feet. 

Kamal sort of lost track of what happened after that. He must had fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew he was waking up. He was in a bed, pretty much the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in. The sheets were clean, but without scent and there was a general smell of old clothes, leather, and baking stone. It was light outside, which is what had woken him. Or had it been the voices. The door was open half way and though they were speaking at a respectful volume he could still hear them, though he couldn’t see them.

“-is shouldn’t have happened,” someone was saying, he couldn’t discern who though. His head was a bit thick, his scalp was still sore and he couldn’t feel his hands.

“Well now it definitely won’t,” someone else said.

“This can’t _ever_ happen again. Our own novices-

“I know. It’s unacceptable. But he’s safe now.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I glad to see you care so much about him,” there was amusement in their voice, “You’ve been fighting it the entire time, but really you have a soft spot. Not that I didn’t know that,” and there was some soft chuckling. “You going to stop giving him such a hard time now?

“Well I can’t very well do that when _both_ his hands are broken now can I?” he recognize the voice now, it was the Grandmaster.

“I’m serious,” and that meant this voice had to be the Grand Dai. He imagined them sitting under the window in the Master’s main room, where all the pillows were, and the cats. He knew they had a great many discussions there, and he sometimes tagged along to take notes or if the Grandmaster was alone to help him with his work.

“I was… perhaps a bit harsh.”

“Perhaps?” the Grand Dai asked and Kamal started a bit when Sawsan suddenly jumped up onto the bed. She stared at him with her amber eyes and looked like more then just an animal.

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” the Grandmaster agreed and Kamal smiled a little.

“As you were pretending he was,” the Grand Dai said pointedly.

“Yes okay I was trying to find fault. I told you I didn’t want a scribe.”

“And now?”

There was a long silence and Sawsan picked her way around him before finding a comfortable place on the pillow, her head on his hair. “He can stay,” the Grandmaster said and Kamal almost missed it. “And this will never happen again. I will kill the next novice who does something like this.”

“And that Abdul boy?”

“He’s a bad egg, like Abbas. He’ll stew in the dungeon for a while until I think I can stand to look at his disgusting face.”

“You should kill him. The Order does not condone bullies, we are brothers, a family.”

“I thought you’d be against it,” the Grandmaster sounded surprised.

“I like the boy too. Knowing what Abdul did…” then was a pause, “He’ll be an example to everyone who thinks what he’s done will be tolerated.”

The Grandmaster chuckled darkly, pleased by this. He heard him speak, but not what was being said, for he was speaking too softly. There was a long silence and Kamal could hear nothing more, then a new noise started and his eyes looked up, under his brows. Sawsan was purring. Funny. He’d never heard her purr before.


	15. Sacred Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 'part 2'
> 
> Enjoy your ride and please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.
> 
> /throws 4-5 new plot points at you

New sunlight trickled in through the pale drapes. The sky outside was still a riot but it promised to be a hot autumn day. The crops would be brought in from the fields soon, and once they were the Assassins would come down from their mountain and visit the villages. For this was one of the three year cycles when the villages had to pay a tithe to their protectors in flesh. It was a threshing year, as the year before it had been, and would be again in two years time.

Malik groaned appreciatively at a gentle breeze passing through the window. It was too hot for this time of year, especially all the way up here in Masyaf. Their blanket was thin, but still kept out the chill of the desert at night and altitude that persisted even in the middle of summer, and whatever extra heat was needed came from their own bodies.

“Shut up, too early,” Altair muttered around his pillow.

“It’s time to get up though,” Malik said and propped himself up on what remained of his left arm to wipe his eyes.

“I’m taking a day.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I’m the Grandmaster, I can do whatever I want.”

“And I am the Grand Dai. And you are not,” he gave Altair’s hair a gentle tug. Altair grunted disapprovingly. “Now get up before Kamal comes with our breakfast,” and he made to roll out of the bed.

Altair’s arm snagged him around his waist with more speed then his sleepiness should have allowed and Malik was tugged back onto the bed. “Taking a day,” Altair said, his arm tightening around Malik’s waist, face pressing into Malik’s hair.

“Altair. The Master has duties.”

“Taking a day,” he declared. Malik rolled his eyes.

“Fine. But let go I have to take a piss,” and Altair released him. Malik levered himself out of the bed and almost immediately almost tripped over a cat. “Damnit Kadar,” he muttered and from the bed Altair chuckled as Malik pushed the big, gray, tom-cat out of the way with his bare foot. Fully grown Kadar was the biggest of Sawsan’s litter, but also the laziest and would let little Adha or Nadyne jump on him while he lay out in the sun sleeping.

Malik left the room to Altair calling after him irritably, but didn’t actually get out of bed. Lazy sack of bones. He went to the front door and opened it. Jari was half asleep at the chair. “Jari,” he called and the man startled awake..

“Ah-! Master, I apolo-

Malik was chuckling, “Save it. Go get me a bucket of water.”

“Uh… do I want to know?”

“It’s for Altair’s head. He’s being lazy.” Jari grinned wickedly and left to do as Malik asked.

Once Jari was gone Malik retreated back into the room and returned to the bedroom. Altair had since sprawled all across the bed and was covered in cats. Malik sighed looking at them. Sawsan had found a place between his shoulders while Seif and Kadar lay draped over his back. Kanwai was curled up on Malik’s side of the bed, soaking in what remained of his warmth while her silver tabby of a sister was nestled against Altair’s off side. Adha, still always the runt even though they were all grown, was laying so her head almost brushed the underside of Altair’s chin. Altair slept like he didn’t even notice they were there. With a smile and a shake of his head Malik dressed. It was too warm for the full regalia, even in the shade. So he just tucked a simple long sleeved tunic into his pants as there was a knock on the door.

Shirt half hanging out of his pants he answered the door knowing it was no one important. Everyone knew by now to not disturb the Masters until after breakfast. The time when it hadn’t mattered and things had to be dealt with _now_ had passed with last winter. Now they could afford to have real, regular hours instead of long nights along with the long days. As he figured, it was Jari, Kamal was at his elbow with a small tray. He looked uncomfortable in his clothes and Malik could tell that his tunic was too tight again. This kid _had_ to stop growing. He’d been so short, and now he was almost as tall as Malik. New clothes needed to be handled before sunset. No mean task when all of Kamal’s tunics had the sleeves hemmed in black to mark him out from the other novices. Altair had seen to that after one too many times some other brother commandeering his scribe for this or that as Assassins tended to do. The entire fortress knew that the novice marked with black was untouchable.

“I’ll take that,” Malik said and took the bucket from Jari and let Kamal in. As the boy walked past he grabbed a piece of fruit from the tray and closed the door with his shoulder. Kamal put the breakfast tray on the desk that was nearly never used and Malik returned to the bedroom. Altair was still sleeping, he hadn’t moved.

Sawsan lifted her head when he entered and saw the bucket. She stood and jumped off Altair’s sleeping form. Her childBo followed her example. Good idea too and Malik walked over to the bed and dropped the water onto Altair’s head.

Altair flailed in bed and sat bolt upright with a yell. Malik laughed and Altair turned to glare at him, “God be damned Malik!” he roared.

“Oh shut up,” Malik said, bullying him off the bed, which was now wet, but would dry quickly in the heat and sun. “Now get dressed and make yourself presentable,” and with that he turned around to finish shoving his shirt into his pants and wrapped a red sash around his waist. As he left the bedroom he pulled on his robe, but forewent the hood. The hood was Altair.

In the main room Kamal was finishing putting out the breakfast for the cats, and they were lined up against the wall, heads down. Kamal tugged gently on Adha’s tail, but she just ignored him, then he stood up when Malik entered. 

“What is there today?” Malik asked as he picked up a cup of tea. Making Altair take a scribe was probably the best idea he’d ever had. Over the past year and a half Kamal had proved invaluable, despite the rocky start, and he did everything that was asked of him, often in ways they didn’t expect. He was very adaptable, and creative, as Malik had thought and by now could anticipate their needs almost before either he or Altair realized they needed something. Morning tea was like that, Kamal always had a cup for him and Altair ready before they came out. Fed the cats too, which meant Altair couldn’t dawdle to procrastinate his work by doing that task.

“Message from Jerusalem, a pigeon from Greece, and Haytham wants to speak with you after dinner tonight,” Kamal recited, hands behind his back as Malik sipped his tea. He’d grown a lot since he’d first started and was no longer that weak boy he had been who’d let Abdul Wahid nearly beat him to death. Malik’s lip curled a little thinking about that little shit. Three other boys had been dealt with because of the stink Abdul had left in the novice wing. He carried a new scar though, on his eyebrow and touching the outside corner of his eye, he always said he was like the Grandmaster with his ‘mysterious scar’.

“Good,” Malik nodded as the novice handed him a tablet with the papers attached to it. “Go make sure he’s actually dressing and didn’t just fall back asleep at the foot of the bed. He’s being difficult this morning.”

“Yes, Master,” Kamal bowed his head a little and went into the bedroom.

“Oh,” he said pleasantly when he read the message from Jerusalem. Jawad was dead. There had been a small riot in a market and Jawad had been out during the time. He’d come back in a wooden box. He knew he shouldn’t feel as glad as he did about Jawad’s death, but it was for the better. With Jawad death he could worry slightly less about Abbas, who’d been quiet the past year. Haytham had been as well, mostly, though if he wanted to see Malik tonight it meant he had something.

“Get off me,” Malik looked over at the sound of Altair’s voice as he pushed through the door. “I don’t need help to get dressed,” even though he wasn’t wearing his black robe, though the hood piece was draped over his shoulders for it.

“Jawad is dead,” Malik announced.

“Really? Excellent. I was afraid he’d never drop dead,” and shooing Kamal away from him Altair pulled the flat black robe around his shoulders. As always Malik liked to watch the transformation. Out of black Altair was more easy going, also more annoying. But in black he became the Mentor and his authority was worn as solidly as his black hood and robe.

“And I’m surprised he left us so quickly,” Malik said, moving on to the message from Greece as Altair picked his tea up in one hand and some hot oats in the other.

“The world works in mysterious ways,” Altair said, sipping.

Malik looked up slowly from the message. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“You did this didn’t you?”

“How could I? I was here in Masyaf, the whole time. Wasn’t I Kamal?” he tossed to the novice who was standing off to the side. He’d been surprised too many times before to be caught off guard by Altair this morning though.

“As far as I know, sir,” he said.

“You still did this,” Malik said pointedly. “You arranged this… somehow.”

“You check all my messages before they’re sent off,” Altair reminded him and put honey in his oats before eating them while they were still hot. “Explain to me how I could have done this,” he said through a mouth full of food. Malik made a disgusted face at him.

“I don’t know, yet. I’ll find out though,” he promised with narrowed eyes. The edges of Altair’s eyes wrinkled in amusement. Then he put his oats down and grabbed a scrap of paper and a thin stick of graphite and wrote something down. “Boy,” he called and Kamal was there in the next heart beat. “Give this to Rauf,” he said, handing over the scrap, “Before he finishes his morning meal,” and waved him off. Kamal was out the door a moment later.

“What are you up to?” Malik asked him suspiciously, eyeing him.

“Nothing,” Altair said and shoved more oats into his mouth.

“Not five minutes ago I couldn’t get you out of bed. Now you’re sending out messages. You’re up to something.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Altair said and put his bowl down on the desk and shoved half a dozen slices of fruit into his mouth before sweeping back out of the room and back to the bedroom.

Malik gave a troubled sigh after him as Adha jumped up onto the table. As predicted she was as beautiful as her younger self had been and she’d kept her green eyes, though they were more yellow then green. She butted into his hand even as he (still) was trying to read the message from Greece. She settled for rubbing her head all over his hand and arm, purring loudly. Adha _loved_ him, which was a nice change of pace from the others who all obviously preferred Altair to him.

“Altair!” he yelled as he read the pigeon slip.

“What?” Altair called back.

“Get out here,” and Altair stuck his head out of their room.

“What?”

“We’re going to be having visitors.”

“From?”

“Greece,” and Altair looked near uncomfortable. The Greek Assassins tended to think of themselves the most devout to the Creed, they also were the smallest in number for while at one time the rocky land had been ripe for civilization, their neighbors were far more powerful and thus targets for greater corruption by themselves or from the Templars. They were an extremely serious branch of the Order, and felt very strongly about how and why the Order acted.

“Why?” Altair asked.

“It says they want to meet the new Mentor. At least I believe so, my Greek is not what is was,” he wrinkled his nose a little.

“Why now?” Altair finally came from the room, fussing with his sword belt.

“I don’t know,” Malik said. He groaned, “They’ll be here in a few weeks if the bird precedes them,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That means they’ll be here right at the start of the threshing.”

Altair frowned deeply, “Wonderful,” he agreed with Malik’s sentiment. Damnit it was too early for the headache Malik was now getting. He didn’t want to deal with the Greeks, not during the threshing. As it was it was a high stress and high pressure time for the Order in general and last year had not been any different then the ones under Azrael. If anything it was more painful, as it was the first one Altair and Malik had done, there had been some mistakes. Zaki and Abyan had been there to help though, and Malik had never been so glad Altair had held Zaki and Abyan back from returning as Dais. 

“We will deal with it when it comes closer to the time,” Altair came up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. Malik tipped his head back and Altair rested his forehead on Malik’s. “But for now, the threshing is more important to think about, and Jawad’s replacement.”

“Let one of the rafiqs have it.”

“Of course not. I like both of them,” Altair said, looking at him.

Malik looked at him shrewdly, “Stop that,” he said.

Altair just chuckled, “Come, we have lots of work to day.”

“We always have lots of work,” Malik reminded him.

“Then we should go do it,” and he gave Malik a peck on the lips, upside down, as Malik’s head was still tipped back. Malik grabbed onto the front of his robes and pulled him back when he tried to stand properly. Altair moaned softly into his mouth when Malik kissed him deeply, his tongue sliding into Altair’s familiar, warm, mouth. When he let Altair go the young Mentor was breathless and flustered. Malik just smirked at him wickedly and stood up from the chair. Altair licked his lips before yanking his hood up to shield his eyes and turned away from Malik.

“I’ll be right down, I need to put on my shoes,” Malik said glancing down. Altair nodded stiffly and walked to the door. As he did he whistled and the six cats, which had been laying around or nosing in their food dishes to see if there was any left, hopped to their feet and followed after. Malik had no idea how Altair had actually successfully trained an entire group of cats. It was on the side of amazing. And they were amazingly well trained too and while didn’t obey direct orders like a dog might, always seemed to _know_ what was happening. They’d all inherited Sawsan’s intelligence, though all slightly lesser then her own as none of her childBo would look at someone with eyes like a humans, and not a cat. They filed out the door and Altair closed it behind him.

Malik went into their bedroom and started at a figure in the room, facing one of the windows. “Grand Dai,” they said turned to him, bowing.

“Raafe,” he said, trying not to sound surprised. “What are you doing here? I thought Haytham wanted to see me after dinner,” he eyed the young man. Like Kamal he’d changed a great deal. Now practically a man he was like a miniature Haytham, down to mannerisms. Though he supposed that since the novice spent every day with the man that tended to happen. After all last year Malik had only an adequate poker face, now he could pull off a masterful one, because of Altair.

“Yes, he does,” he said, straitening. “He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to make it though.”

“Why?”

“Abbas is moving again. Apparently he got word early this morning that Jawad is dead,” Malik’s brow furrowed. “He went to one of the coops and sent out several birds. We don’t know what the message was, my master is trying to figure it out, but he doesn’t want to leave Abbas unless he has to. He’s worried he’ll do something stupid.”

“How did Abbas learn about Jawad’s death? We only heard of it this morning, and it came from Kamal,” Malik frowned.

“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m here. Master Haytham is looking into it. You may have a mole.” He saw Malik’s eye twitch before continuing quickly, “I doubt it was Kamal. But the pigeon handlers could easily be compromised.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Master Haytham hopes he’ll see you tonight.”

“And if not?”

“Then he couldn’t get away, because of Abbas.”

“Very well,” Malik nodded. “If that’s all Raafe,” and he waved the novice away. He climbed out the window he was standing by. Funny, he was sure that there were no easy hand holds around their windows. Malik checked out the window, but Raafe was already gone. Huh. Seemed Haytham was better then expected. Once Abbas was dealt with he’d suggest Altair give him a Masters’ title. 

One day at a time though, first they had to get through today.

—

Rauf was at the desk with Altair when Malik neared them. His back was towards Malik but as always he stood in that easy stance, hands behind his back, perfectly professional.

“It may be too much,” Rauf was saying.

“It can’t go on like this though, it’s-“ then Altair spotted Malik.

“Good morning Rauf,” Malik said, sliding into the chair next to Altair’s.

“Grand Dai,” he bowed his head at Malik.

“What’s going on here?” he rose his brows at the Master Instructor and gave them both stern looks when they didn’t answer but exchanged glances. “Kamal,” as always the boy was nearby with a near ever present notebook for anything he had to write down for Altair, or his own notes for decoding Altair’s mess he called handwriting.

“Yes, Master?”

“What were they just talking about?” all three men were now looking at him.

Kamal’s mouth worked a moment, as it was the only part of his face they could see, because of his hood. “Uh-

“Speak,” Malik ordered.

“They were discussing the threshing,” Kamal said and gave a helpless shrug at Altair, face asking for forgiveness for telling. Kamal had learned quickly though that it was better to disappoint Altair then it was to do the same to Malik. Altair was only a bit bitter.

“Really? What about the threshing?” he wasn’t looking at either man, though Altair looked annoyed, Rauf resigned, as if he knew it’d come up sooner rather then later.

“Uh…” he made a face, “the Grandmaster wants to… uh… change it.”

Malik blinked and looked at Altair now, “Were you going to talk to me about this?”

“I haven’t _done_ anything yet. I was going to once it was planned a bit more.”

“Altair the threshing is in _three weeks_ , what are you going to change.”

Altair sighed and toyed with a closed inkwell on the table, using his finger to tip and hold it at it’s side. “I think the threshing is outdated. It needs to be brought up to modern times.”

“Altair, it’s where we get most of our men-

“Yes and a lot of good it does us. More men means more who are not good enough, more men who will probably _die_ before giving up their grays,” he said defiantly.

“My brother and I were brought in during a threshing,” Malik reminded him irritably, “As was Rauf and-

“Please, Malik, don’t bring me into this,” Rauf interjected before Malik could bring up Seif.

Malik allowed it, “Without the threshing we don’t have the man power, even if some of them die, it’s a cost we’ve been paying for centuries.”

“Tradition doesn’t mean right,” Altair said, “After all, we break tradition. Who ever heard of a Grand Dai anyway?” Malik couldn’t even refute him, because he was right. “We take in the weak minded, weak willed,  the stupid, and thugs more often in men of real worth,” Altair said. “There is a reason Assassins outnumber Masters nearly ten to one.”

Malik frowned, “Altair you can’t just-

“I can,” Altair said sternly.

“The threshing helps the villages as well. There are so many orphans from the war Altair, even in our lands. The threshing gives them a fresh start a place in the world.”

“It isn’t the business of the Order to take in orphans Malik-

“I was one of them!” Malik snapped.

“Yes, and you were not weak,” Altair snapped right back. They were both half raised out of their chairs. Rauf had taken a step or two back, and Kamal was pressed up against the bookshelf. “The Order  should be able to choose who it wants. We are not a charity. We train men to be the best, to do things that no other men can do. That can’t happen when our stock is _weak_.”

“Then what do you suggest we do? Oh great Mentor?” Malik said sarcastically.

“There will still be a threshing. But it will not be as it was. Boys who show actual promise will be threshed, but not simply taken because the town owes us a body. I do not want bodies Malik, I want men.”

“And what about boys who want to join the Order?” Malik had been that boy, after the fire that had killed his and Kadar’s paBots. During the threshing he’d volunteered himself, and his little brother, who hadn’t even started to lose his baby teeth, to be taken to Masyaf.

“If they want to join a cult, they can do so,” and Malik felt like he’d been slapped. In retaliation Malik actually struck Altair, smacking him across his face with with the flat of his hand. Altair glared at him and any other man would have wilted, Malik just glared right back, _daring_ him to retaliate. It would have not been the first time a fist fight broke out behind the desk, and if one did this morning it would not be the last. Altair didn’t strike though, though it looked like he was holding himself back just barely. “This is why I wasn’t going to tell you till later,” he growled. Then he stood up and swept away from the desk, motioning minutely to Kamal who hesitated before following quickly.

Once Altair was gone Malik sighed. “That probably could have gone better,” Rauf said. Malik glared at him. Shame his glares didn’t work on Rauf. “He has good ideas though.”

“We are _not_ a cult,” Malik growled. “And he’s being far too generous. The threshing keeps us alive, even if all the boys don’t make it to become Assassins they still support the castle in other ways.”

“I understand his frustrations,” Rauf said and Malik looked at him. “Many of my students are not what they could be. And more bodies does not make an Order, as it is I can’t give them all the attention they deserve, thus they suffer further. It’s an awful cause and effect.”

“Well what should we do them? Hire servants? As it is we employ a third of the village, but we don’t have the money for more servants.”

“Well we-

“Do not even say slaves Rauf. Do not,” he growled.

“I was not,” Rauf said, holding his hands up. “More of our men are slipping off the warrior track, because there _are_ so many of us. Many of them too stupid to be scholars though, so we allow them to stay the course as a warrior. Instead of giving them either, perhaps we could funnel them into another area? Work perhaps, and let them continue training, though they will never be an Assassin,” and Malik saw his left hand flex reflexively. Malik ignored his missing finger, as he did with everyone, it made him upset.

Malik sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Why did this have to be brought up before lunch?” he asked no one. Rauf chuckled. “I don’t know,” he admitted, suddenly very tired, funny, his day had started so good, a breeze through the window. Already though the day was starting to warm up. He could hear people outside in the front courtyard, wanting to get training or work done before the heat and sun forced them to retreat into the fortress. “Altair wants less men, you say keep the men we have but make them serve in different ways.”

“Both have their benefits,” Rauf said.

“Master!” he looked up when Kamal practically ran up to the desk, panting. “Master Malik,” he gulped some air before saying, “Master Altair is down in the training ring.”

Malik got up from his chair and went to the grated window. Indeed he could see Altair, he’d recognize his form anywhere. He’d taken off his black robe and hood and stood armor-less in the training ring with just a naked sword. He wasn’t even wearing proper whites, just a white tunic with sleeves to his elbows shoved into his pants. Someone was facing off against him but Malik wasn’t quite sure who, they were wearing strange clothes, very colorful like a peacock and many layered tails. He motioned to Kamal and the boy came up to him. “Who is that?”

“Ah— that is Bo.”

“Bo?” he didn’t know a brother named Bo.

“Yes, he just came up to the gates and announced himself. He’s from the Orient.”

“The Orient?” Malik’s brows went up. Oh just what he needed.

“The others were giving him a hard time before he knocked some of them down. The Grandmaster saw and challenged him.”

“That idiot,” he wasn’t quite sure who he meant however. Both men were probably equally stupid. He left the window and walked past Rauf, and going down to the first floor. Kamal was hot on his heels.

As he passed one of the main halls that branched off from the entrance someone hailed him, “Malik. I need a word,” Zaki called.

“In a moment, Zaki,” he called back, not stopping. “I have to go deal with some idiots,” and Zaki chuckled lowly and is he nodded Malik missed it, for he was already outside.

He went right up to the edge of the stair top and looked over the main ring, where Altair and this Bo were fighting. It was clear who had the advantage as few could actually hope to match Altair in a fight, despite his failures as a dueler. Still, Bo had good footwork at the least and so far had managed to not get killed. Malik watched for a few moments, waiting, and watching Altair for signs that he’d take it too far. It’d happened before. As a novice he’d only stopped when an instructor had called him to heel. As an Assassin and Master he’d ignored everyone unless they physically held him back from a killing blow. He at least listened when Malik stayed his hand, or he had last time.

Bo, sadly, was not a sword fighter at Altair’s level and once Altair figured that out he pushed hard. Bo figured it out about second after Altair that he was losing and struggled to keep his guard up. Then Malik saw it, the shift in Altair’s stance, a deeper crouch and more fluid motions as he slipped away from himself, becoming consumed by the lust of the fight humming through his veins. “Altair!” he called. It was sort of funny, watching Altair shove Bo’s sword out, leaving his body exposed and swing to kill, only to stop a hands breadth from the other man’s body. Altair’s head tilted a bit as he stared at Bo. “That’s enough!” Malik put his hand on the railing.

Altair’s sword dropped and was sheathed a second later, though he kept his hand on it, just in case. Bo looked a bit terrified now. “Uh… thank you,” he called to Malik.

Malik scoffed, “I did not do it for you,” Malik said, knowing everyone in the yard was watching, any practice fights that had been going on in the three other rings had come to a stand still to watch their Mentor fight. “A Mentor should not kill someone unless required. You’re not worth the blood on his sword,” and even at this distance (which wasn’t so much) he saw Bo flush. “Who are you?”

The strange man came forward, giving Altair a wide berth, who was still eyeing him cooly. He was a strange one, his skin had the color of old paper and his eyes were slits, though he did not appear to be squinting. Though his robes were, mostly, white there were flashes of red, orange, and yellow amid them and were layered over top of one another around his waist so his sash looked like it was made of fire. “I am Bo,” he said, he spoke with a strange accent.

“And what are you doing here Bo? Besides sword fighting, badly,” a few of his brothers chuckled. Bo held up his left hand. He was missing his ring finger.

“I came to find where we come from,” he said clearly, though still with that accent. “I come from the branch of the Order from Hua Shan. I would appreciate your hospitality,” he said seriously.

Well, today just got better and better.


	16. Tiger Lily

It wasn’t even lunch and already the day was deplorably busy. He sent someone to take Bo someplace to put his things as well as to just get out of Malik’s hair. Which was required right now when, as always, he had to do some sort of damage control. He told Kamal to make sure Altair kept his sword to himself and once that was dealt with he went back inside. Zaki still needed to speak with him. He knew that even though he was just a novice Kamal could speak with authority, even to Altair, and when his instructions were backed by Malik himself Altair would scowl and mope, but he’d do it. 

Kamal was not just his scribe, or their personal errand boy, Kamal was Malik’s eyes when they were not together, and, at times, his voice as well, reminding Altair ‘the Grand Dai wouldn’t like if you did that’, which usually made him come to heel on most of his stupid decisions. Because Altair sometimes didn’t know when to stop, but Malik couldn’t always be there. The times he hadn’t heeded Kamal’s warnings Malik had been angry, so Altair listened now. Usually at least, sometimes he still didn’t, but Malik did not blame him entirely, he was the Grand Master and a grown man, he couldn’t be taking orders from a boy almost half his age, it would look bad.

Zaki was waiting for him at the desk keeping his hands busy by organizing papers and pigeon slips. Normally someone at their desk, touching the things, would have had the guards on them, breathing down their necks. But this was Zaki and he practically helped to run the Order. He and Abyan both had the age and experience that neither Altair nor himself had. Zaki he knew had been a friend of Azrael, but he’d also been Altair’s supporter, he was not blinded by any friendship he had for Azrael to not see what was required. But he knew the Old Man and knew how he manipulated his papers and codes and had helped unsort the mess that had been the Order when Azrael had become nearly consumed by the Apple. They’d done what they could in the six weeks last year before the meeting of the Dais, but Malik had only so much knowledge. It was good to have the older men on their side.

“Zaki,” he said, coming up behind him.

The older man turned, and smiled politely, he had a great many smiles, most of them old, a few mysterious, but all of them clever and kind. He’d been a good fit for Acre, as you needed someone clever to handle the influx of foreigners that such a city had. “There you are. How are those idiots?” he joked.

“Well, we have another now to deal with,” he sighed, “a man from the Orient.”

“Ah. That is interesting. We do not often get men from so far here.”

Malik blinked, “There have been others before?”

“Mmm, yes, a long time ago, back when I was a boy, a novice still. They came from the far, far, East, an entire group of them. They were there to meet Al Mualim, and to learn of our brothers here as well as learn things they did not have in their own land. They were especially interested in Plato,” he nodded slowly. “They taught us some of their moves, ones we do not have. If I was perhaps twenty years younger I’d show you,” Malik laughed.

“There is no need for that,” he assured Zaki. “We’ll see what Bo has for us in time. After lunch at the least, for there is a full morning,” he sighed and sat at his chair. “Now, you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “About Jawad.”

“Mmm,” he did not question how Zaki knew. Zaki had an important place in the main pigeon coops. While it sounded like a bad position it was in fact a very important one and many non Assassin brothers coveted it, because it was through the coops that the word of the Order spread. From there came all their information and correspondence, if suddenly something were to happen to their pigeons, or someone who tended the birds was a traitor they could backlog and slow the Order down to a stand still. Zaki and a man named Majid headed the coops and the influx of birds in and out of Masyaf, as well as kept at least one bird from each major city in Syria in boxes by the Grandmaster’s desk. Malik sometimes had to send Kamal to the main coop to fetch more birds if they were especially busy and the news could not wait till the next morning when the birds were sent out in a big flock with news for the Kingdom.

“Who will you replace him with? There is also the matter of the funeral. Jawad chose to be buried here, in Masyaf, instead of Jerusalem.”

“Altair are discussing the former,” briefly, they would later, it was not the greatest concern at the moment. “And he will given a plot in the graveyard, as all the other brothers who die here. Those who wish to, may mourn, but there will be no ceremony. He doesn’t warrant one on any grand scale,” he fiddled with something on the desk mindlessly. “I assume his rafiqs will tend to the bureau until he’s replaced.”

“Unless you give them the title of Dai.”

Malik looked up at him, “We need Dais who are forward thinking. Altair said he likes those rafiqs, but that means nothing. Altair likes Abbas too, as a potential head on a spike,” he bit the inside of his cheek.  “And Jerusalem is dangerous,” he drummed his fingers on the table. “But we can’t keep making it a dumping ground for those we’d rather not think about,” his fingers tightened into a ball.

“Perhaps then, someone who’s capable of dealing with such a city? And who will not be intimidated by Jawad’s rafiqs,” Zaki shrugged.

Malik scratched his chin thoughtfully, “I think we will send his rafiqs to Alamut. People who’s lives that man touch turn into poison. Look at Raid after all, he’s a shell of a man and dances only to Jawad’s say. The men of Alamut will take care of those rafiqs, they deal with children and studious novices, they won’t pander to greedy rafiqs.”

“That is a wise choice. But who is the new Dai?”

He rubbed his mouth, “I don’t know. Altair and I will discuss it further. It is very sudden.”

“It was indeed.”

Malik narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, “You know something.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Grand Dai,” he said, as diplomatic as ever.

“Did Altair ever send a pigeon out without my say?” he asked.

“No. Not that I know,” so either Zaki was lying to him, or Altair had moved behind his back. It was not a particularly shady move so Malik was not too upset by it, but he liked to know what Altair was planning. Still, with the way the fight had gone earlier perhaps he should just let Altair do and he play catch up afterwards, or come in in the middle. He was good at figuring out the beginning when he came in in the middle, that was after all, how all of this madness had started, with Malik coming in at the middle of Altair’s conspiracy theory.

“Very well. How are they sending the body?”

“In a box, of course, I would assume,” Zaki said gravely.

Malik wrinkled his nose and pulled out a blank pigeon scroll and wrote a quick instruction on it. He didn’t bother with code for this message as it was not a particularly important order, even if he expected it to be done. “Send this out with tomorrow mornings birds, this one is for Jerusalem,” he handed the slip to Zaki. He took it, read it, and chuckled.

“Very well.”

“Is that all Zaki?”

“Yes, it is. Safety and peace Grand Dai,” he bowed his head and left. Malik watched him go and rubbed his head a little. 

He turned to the papers on his desk. The most important messages were given to him in the morning during breakfast by Kamal, but there were others, that he hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at yet, because of Altair. Always because of Altair. Where was he anyway? He stood and looked out the great grated window, scanning the courtyard for his familiar, lean, form, or his crow’s wings robes. He didn’t see him, or Kamal. So he was either somewhere in the fortress, or had left it. Either way Altair wasn’t making trouble so at least there was that.

He went back to his desk and leafed through the papers Zaki had been organizing. There were several requests for work from various lords and even not lords. That had honestly been a strange a strange thing to Malik when they’d started this. He always thought that the Order worked only for it’s best interest, but that was not so. They had to fill their coffers somehow and killing on their own agenda did not do that.  So there were contracts and really he was sometimes amazed at just how many contracts were taken out, for the pettiest things too, and there were even Crusaders and Europeans who would happily give their gold to the Order to have someone offed. Malik had yet to actually turn a single one down that didn’t look obviously foolish, though he knew Altair would scowl at him for accepting some from invaders. The way he looked at it though, money was money, and Altair didn’t understand that aspect of the Order very well. Though he supposed that was why he was made Grand Dai in the first place, because Altair did not understand this fine tuning.

He always dealt with the contracts first, because they were important and while none of their men were paid for what they did all Assassins had to be clothed and fed and armored and equipped and materials for weapons had to be bought and the forge here in Masyaf had to stay stocked and there was an infinite number of things that they poured gold into. Making sure they had enough was constantly a full time job. And they didn’t just get contracts from Syria either. While there were councils in other countries as well, here in the Holy Land, contracts could only be accepted here in Masyaf. It kept the chain of command with the Mentor, or else anyone could sent their men out to kill. In north Africa and southern Europe as well as from India eastward there were others who could give out missions because they were so far flung from Syria that it made little sense for them to make those decisions.

It was getting to be lunch when he finally finished with the contracts and Altair had still not returned. He frowned at the empty seat next to him. Things went faster when they worked together, but was was just gone, and now he had to play host to the man from the Orient. That was unfair as far as he was concerned.

Malik got to his feet stiffly, with a groan. The list of contracts was complete, he’d have someone else transcribe them to pigeon slips to be sent out tomorrow to whatever city they needed to be sent out and any men here who would be tasked with those kills would be alerted to it and they’d leave a few hours after their corresponding birds.

He went up to their room, Ehan was there, bored. Malik should have given Ehan and Jari other duties, but with Abbas and his pit of serpents he didn’t trust the rooms to be left alone. Not that he and Altair needed protecting, but there were things inside that needed to be kept safe, as Altair did not carry the Apple with him at all times. Not to mention Altair’s cats. Heaven help any man who made it past Ehan or Jari and decided the felines were easy pickings. All they’d find of that man would be smears on the ground and maybe some giblets of meat. Besides neither Jari nor Ehan would let Malik tell them off. They enjoyed their work, though it was often mind numbingly boring, as it was safe, and neither of them would be the sort to grow old in their profession if they were on the field. They were competent yes, but sooner, rather then later, they would have fallen on a mission. They’d rather be bored and alive, then entertained and dead. Malik did not blame them.

“He’s inside,” Ehan drawled.

“He is?”

“Yes. Since this morning. One of his babies got hurt,” it was only because Altair could not hear that Ehan would call the cats Altair’s babies, or children. Though really he did treat them as such sometimes.

“Well that would explain it,” and why he hadn’t come back to the desk. He went inside and was only mildly surprised at what he was seeing. Altair was dozing under the window, Seif in his lap, his leg wrapped in bandages, hood askew on his head. The others were mostly strewn about, though Nadyne and Sawsan were both missing. Kamal was there as well, sitting with his back towards Malik, looking like he was writing something. He turned when the door opened.

“Ah, Grand Dai,” he said softly. Malik closed the door.

“It’s nearly midday,” Malik said coming over to the teen and motioned to the door. Kamal looked down at his lap, upon which was a journal he was writing in and quickly blew on the pages. He capped his inkwell, which was surprisingly blue, and trying to make the words dry faster he got to his feet. “Also see Bo up to us,” he added. He was going to make Altair deal with this as well.

“Yes Grand Dai,” he bowed his head and, once satisfied his ink was dry closed the little journal with a soft slap and left the room.

Malik knelt next to Altair and reached out to wake him, “Do not, touch me,” he said in a low tone, not at all sleepy sounding.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he didn’t bother to keep his voice down  now. Altair just grunted. “What? You’re angry with me?” he huffed.

Altair opened one amber at him, “You _hit me_. In front of Rauf no less,” he growled.

“Because you’re an idiot,” Malik said.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Oh stop it. You’re just in a mood because of Seif. I have done far worse in front of far more important people then just Rauf, who knows us. Bo is eating with us, so shape up. What happened to him anyway?” he asked and scratched Seif’s head. The dark gray tom purred delightfully.

“He got underfoot of some people,” was all he said, both eyes opening now, to pet Seif as well. He loved that he was getting both of them to give him attention.

“Well he seems fine enough,” Malik said gently and slid his hand down to tangle his fingers in Altair’s. Altair sort of scowled at him. “Now we’re having a guest for lunch. You need to behave.”

“I always behave,” he pouted now.

“I am serious. He’s come a long way, I don’t want you saying anything stupid.”

“You seem to be quite keen to remind me I’m an idiot today Malik,” he said hotly, irritated again. Normally Malik’s words would just wash off him, but he was more sensitive because Seif was hurt, he was always more touchy when one of them was sick or hurt. Thankfully that didn’t happen very often.

“You’re not an idiot,” Malik said patiently, squeezing his hand. “You just sometimes are a bit… crass.”

“Should I just let you do the talking then?”

“If you want. But he came to see you, so don’t be your moody self. You need to make a good impression.”

Altair sighed, “Fine.”

“Thank you, _habibi_ ,” and he gave Altair a quick kiss on the lips.  Altair squeezed his hand back and caught his lips before he drew away. Malik closed his eyes when they kissed and for a brief moment he mouthed at the scar on his mouth before pulling away. “And I’m sorry for hitting you this morning. You should know better then to strike a nerve though.”

“Mmm,” was all Altair said and tugged at the front of Malik’s shirt, making him finally lean forward on his knees. “I like it when you’re a raw nerve though,” and they were kissing again. Malik always thought it strange, and yet a miracle, that they could go from one of them angry at the other one second, to kissing the next, any misunderstandings being pushed aside for that moment when their lips connected. Altair had also found that, despite Malik’s best efforts, Malik was either more apologetic or more willing to accept an apology for something Altair had done when they were like this. Exposed for the other to see and without fear of being come upon or being hurt. They did their fair share of hurting each other other times. These times were not those times.

Malik pulled away when there was a knock. “Masters,” Ehan’s voice called, “Bo is here.”

“Just a moment,” Altair called back and gave Malik one last fleeting kiss before pushing himself to his feet, cradling Seif in one arm. He picked the other up off the floor or furniture and went into the bedroom. Malik watched him go, unable to take his eyes off him till the bedroom door had closed behind him. The soft click of the doorknob tongue seemed to put him back into his own body and he could move again. He got to his feet and went to the door.

Bo was eyeing Ehan carefully when he opened the door. Ehan was not a particularly big man, not like Munahid at any rate, but he was very serious, and did not smile often less it was with Jari or (rarely) with Haytham.  Most men were intimidated by Ehan because he could not be swayed and he’d been a good rock to have at their door during the chaotic first few weeks and months where he’d stand at the top of the stairs and not let anyone up once ordered. He’d even drawn his sword on a few brothers who did not take his words to leave seriously, though he’d never used it. Bo was good to be cautious around the guard.

When he saw Malik Bo’s black, squinting eyes turned to him. He bowed his head, “Grand Dai,” he said.

“Please,” and Malik opened the door for him to come in. “Send Kamal in when he arrives,” he said and Ehan nodded once and then he closed the door. 

“I did not think my first meeting with you would be here,” Bo said, looking around.

“Do not get used to is,” Malik said, “It has been a busy day and I cannot sit at that desk a moment longer. Thus, we are here,” and the bedroom door opened, Altair emerging from it, his hood up, eyes covered. He saw Bo swallow. If Bo was wary of Ehan he was nearly scared of Altair. He did not blame him, if Malik had not stayed Altair’s hand Bo would be dead, and they all knew it. “Chair?” he asked even as he sat under the big window, his legs folded in front of him. Altair practically lounged near by, himself like a cat, his very posture of relaxation showing that he was not afraid here, but he did not look lazy and he could be on his feet in a moment.

“No, thank you,” Bo said graciously and sat across from Malik, glancing at Altair, Altair said nothing. “I… You have caught me off guard here Grand Dai,” he admitted.

Altair’s smile, when he did so, was knife-like, “We are Assassins Bo, we don’t aim to do things to comfort others.” The black eyed man bobbed his head. “I also apologize for Al Mualim this morning,” he looked over at Altair, who had no expression.

“Ah, it is no trouble,” Bo said, “I, perhaps, asked for such a thrashing myself.”

There was a brief knock and then the door opened, Kamal coming in with their lunch. He nudged the door closed with his hip before walking over to them and put their meal down in front of Malik. “Will that be all Grand Dai?” he asked Malik. Malik’s lips quirked, he had to stop picking up Altair’s mannerisms or it was going to drive him insane.

“Sit,” he ordered. Kamal sat, a respectful distance away, obviously not included in the meal, but it was early for lunch he’d get his once they were done. “Please,” he motioned for Bo to eat as Altair sat up and picked up two bowls. One contained lentil soup, the other was a, much smaller bowl, of pomegranate seeds, and then he leaned back again a spoon magically appearing in his hand. Malik and Bo took the other two bowls of lentil soup, and Malik made sure to grab a few pieces of pita bread as well. “You’ve come a long way,” Malik said to Bo.

“Yes,” Bo managed to say just before taking a bite of soup. But he swallowed it quickly, “Though I feel it is worth it.”

“Tell us,” Malik said easily, dipping the pita into the soup and making a subtle motion to Kamal. The boy, boredly, took his little journal out of one of his pouches, uncapped his blue ink and instantly began writing, seemingly ignoring the three men.

“I fear it isn’t that grand a tale Grand Dai,” Bo said humbly.

“Nonsense, you come from far away, surely you must have some story. At the very least how you came to have such a good grasp on Arabic.”

“Ah, well,” Bo flushed a little, clearly not used to flattery. “Well I left before the new Mentor had even been decided. I didn’t know there’d even been a change of power till I arrived in this land, for even India only keeps a few tabs on this land.”

Bo’s tale was actually rather interesting. The brothers in Hua Shan lived very much like monks, who traveled the countryside helping people, mostly for free, and while they were all trained Assassins the teachings of the Buddha had wormed it’s way into that sect of the Order. They were taught to try to resolve disputes peacefully over violence, though that was not to say that they were not capable of being violent. Bo also showed them his hidden blade, it was a bit different from theirs with a wider, different blade, single edged, meant to be a slashing weapon, not a stabbing one and used primarily for defense. Altair took interest in it and Bo had taken it off and let him look at it before containing his story.

He’d left Hua Shan two years ago, without permission. He was not the best swordsman, he was a scholarly type, and he wanted to learn how other members of their Order did things. He traveled west along the Silk Road visiting India for a time and a land called Tibet, though they had no branch of the Order there, that Malik knew at least. Then he’d spent most of the year coming from India to here, having heard that there was a new Mentor from some men in Isfahan, and as he’d never met the real Mentor at all, decided to come here. Though finding Masyaf was a lot easier said then done as even when he managed to find their men few would tell him, though he’d met a man in Baghdad apparently who’d agreed to take him to Masyaf. He’d taken him not to Masyaf but to Alamut. The brothers there had accepted him for a time but then sent him away, as they weren’t keen on sharing their secrets with him. Malik was not surprised by that. The men of Alamut were secretive, even to those of Masyaf and while they listened and obeyed Masyaf they were their own men and kept the secrets of their Order carefully. Outsiders, other then children, weren’t usually allowed.

So here he was.

“That is some tale,” Malik said, Kamal had not stopped writing, even after Bo’s story had ended, as he had not changed his pace when he’d started. By now all the food had been eaten and they were more comfortable with each other, and Bo had his hidden blade back. Now and then Bo would glance at Altair, who other to ask to see his blade had not spoken, though Malik had asked a great many questions.

“Eh, it is no tale. It was a lot of long trails and lonely days,” he confessed with some mirth.

“Still. I have heard that we have not had men from where you hail from in many decades,” he said.

“Really?” it was obviously unknown to him as well.

“Indeed. You come to learn from us, but we’d be honored to learn from you as well. Our ways are not your ways, you are our brother, but we both have much to learn of one another.”

“Thank you,” he bowed his head.

There was a knock at the door, “Masters,” now it was Jari’s voice, he’d relieved Ehan of his door duty. Kamal paused in his writing to look back at the door as Malik looked as well. Malik bid him to open the door, Jari poked his head in. “I apologize for interrupting,” he said.

“Do not think of it, we were just finishing,” and Malik stood. Bo followed quickly in suit, Kamal returned to his writing, Altair’s head only moved to follow them. “What is it?”

Jari opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked at Bo, “Private,” he said.

“Oh, I do not mean to intrude,” Bo said quickly. “If I may?” he looked towards the door.

“If you would,” Malik said walking him to the door. “We’ll talk again,” he said with a polite smile.

“Yes, thank you,” Bo said with a bow. “Good day Grand Dai, Grandmaster,” he bowed again and left, walking down the stairs. Malik knew his chaperone would be there.

“What is it Jari?” he asked.

Jari looked down the short hall and beckoned. “Haytham,” was all Jari said and the young man appeared from a shadow that Malik had missed previous. He was really very good at that.

“Come in,” he ordered and Haytham entered. Kamal was collecting the plates as he closed the door, putting them on the tray and Altair was missing from beneath the big window. “Kamal,” he said and the boy looked up, “Where’s Altair?”

“He went to get Seif,” he said looking back down to finish stacking dishes.

He looked at Haytham, “Why are you here? I thought you wanted to meet after dinner.”

“You need to know this now,” and Malik snapped his fingers at Kamal, to pay attention, the boy stood up strait, watching them. “It’s Abbas.”

“Yes, I heard from Raafe that Abbas sent some birds off-

“He’s told the Jerusalem rafiqs to abandon their positions in the bureau,” Haytham interrupted.

“He. What?”

“Can I kill him now?” they all turned to watch Altair come from the bedroom, dark furred Seif in his arms, and little orange and white Adha on his shoulder, watching them with her big green eyes.

“No you can’t kill him,” Malik growled.

“Damn,” was all he said.

“What do you mean he told them to abandon their positions?”

“One of my friends found a dead pigeon to the south, near the end of our reach. It was a meal for a hawk it seemed and left for some reason. Attached to it’s leg was a slip written in our code. It was to Daraa-

“Qais,” Altair said.

Haytham didn’t stop talking, “It instructed both they and those in Jerusalem were to leave their posts. But not Qais, these were for the rafiqs.”

“What is he planning?” Malik asked.

“I have… no idea,” he sighed. “He’s keeping his game tight, and close to himself, he isn’t telling anyone. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

“Damn it all. This just has to happen now, on top of everything else that is going on now,” he ran his hand through his hair. “First the Greeks, Jawad is dead, we have a visitor from the Orient, and the threshing is going to be upon us soon.”

“Sir?” Malik turned to Kamal, who was still standing there. He reminded himself that he needed to see that Kamal got new clothes, ones that fit, they were still too small.

“Yes, Kamal?” his voice wasn’t gentle, but it was less harsh then his current aggravation. He did not take harsh tones with Kamal.

“Uhm, this is just a guess, and I’m probably wrong, but-“ his mouth worked for several seconds.

“Out with it boy,” Altair nudged him, “Can’t be the worst idea we’ve ever heard.”

“Well, the threshing _is_ coming, and usually the scholars go out to get boys from the villages. The one got me was. He looked a lot like the rafiqs. What if Abbas is going to have them pose as threshers?”

There was a cold silence. “He’d be trying to make his own Order. Behind him,” Haytham said. “Damn. I knew Abbas was ambitious. But this?”

“Can I kill him _now_?” Altair asked boredly.

“No,” both Haytham and Malik said at the same time. Altair frowned.

“It’s just an idea. We know nothing,” Malik assured them all. “Haytham, _figure out what he’s up to_ ,” he ordered darkly. “I don’t care what you do. Find out what Abbas is planning. Whatever it is it isn’t good, especially if he has Qais’ rafiq’s under his thumb. Not to mention those from Jerusalem.”

“What about those men?” Haytham asked.

Malik pulled his goatee, “We should capture them,” Altair said. “Abbas can’t use what he doesn’t possess.”

“That would be showing our hands,” Malik said, waving off the suggestion. “He can’t know that we know. The entire reason this has worked so far is that he doesn’t know that we have a man on the inside, and then men _he_ has on the inside only hear what we want them to hear.”

“It would go away if we just killed him-

“Altair, how do you deal with Templars?” Malik cut him off, growing annoyed by his latent blood lust.

“You kill them.”

“And what happens when you do?”

“They… die?” he actually sounded confused as though he didn’t know what Malik was getting at.

“And when you kill one Templar three more spring up around him don’t they? Don’t they, Altair?” Altair could only nod, it was true. “This is the same. We kill Abbas we are only killing the surface, the rest of the conspiracy lives and then have a martyr, and someone to point to and say we’re the villains here. No, when we kill Abbas it will be once he’s tripped and revealed himself to the entire Order. Then we will kill him and everyone else who supported him, we kill the flower and the weed all at once.” Altair did not comment, it meant he agreed.

“I’ll find out what I can,” Haytham promised. “But he’s only giving so much.”

“Then make him give more,” Malik said, hand on his hip. “If Kamal’s theory has even a grain of truth to it then we’re in trouble. It will create a schism, which is the exact reason Altair was made Mentor in the first place!” he ended hotly. God damn that man to the fiery pits of hell.  He didn’t know the harm he was wrecking with whatever mad plan he had.

“I will,” Haytham said.

“Is that all?” Haytham nodded, “Good, then be off with you, I don’t want him to know you were here.” Haytham nodded and then slipped out. “You get all that Kamal?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” he nodded.

“Good, mark it,” the teen nodded. Then he sighed, tired.

“Get the dishes later, go do as your told and see to your own lunch,” Altair told the boy, and Malik could feel him looking at him even though he was turned to the boy. Kamal nodded a third time and collected his journal, inkwell, and quill and then left the room.

Altair put Seif and Adha down on one of the pillows before moving over to him. Malik was frowning and deep in thought. His head was starting to hurt. There was too much to deal with today, and now _this_. He shouldn’t have to shoulder so much weight. It felt like it was bearing down on him. He stared when Altair’s hands came up and he put his thumbs on his temples, and gently rubbed them. “What are you doing?” Malik asked.

“You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel. That or about to get a migraine.”

“How do you know that?” he growled, not in a mood to be coddled.

“Because,” he said softly, “I know you,” his thumbs never ceased their slightly less then gentle motion over his skin. Malik tried to remain annoyed, remain on task, but for as capable as Altair’s hands were with a sword they could be amazingly gentle. He knew that of course, he’d seen how gentle they could be with Sawsan when she was young, or her own kittens. Rarer though he saw that same gentleness given to him. Altair didn’t always know if it was allowed, or how to go about it, when it was with Malik, like he did with cats. An animal was a simple creature, even though they appeared complex, they wanted food, water, shelter, and to be pet. A man was much more complicated, especially men like they were where they didn’t really… know. Even Malik had trouble with it, and he did it better then most. He’d had a little brother, someone to love and who loved him, and thinking of it, that might have been why Rauf turned out the way he did, only he was much less stubborn then Malik. Most of them did not have that, they didn’t know how to be gentle, and even then what gentleness they did have was often hard or hard to grasp.

Finally Malik just decided _not_ to let it get to him. At least not as much at it potentially could. Much of what was going on he honestly had no control over, like Abbas, or the Greeks. He sighed and closed his eyes, “At least someone does,” he said softly, because Altair did, on some level. He did know Malik, and Malik knew Altair the same way, though they were both guarded and secretive men, only showing glimpses of their entire self to one another during quiet times. 

He didn’t need to look to know Altair was smirking, a little, obnoxious quirk of the lips. “What do we have to do the rest of the day?” he asked, still rubbing Malik’s head.

“Generic. Paperwork,” he sighed, “I finished the contracts before lunch.”

“Okay.”

“It would have gone faster with you there.”

“You managed without me,” and his breathe brushed against his cheek, “I was worried about Seif.”

“I know,” Malik resolutely kept his eyes closed, but he knew, some part of him knew, that Altair’s face was near his and seemingly tracing his face without touching it except for with his hands. “Bring him down to the table when we go back so we can watch him,” and when he felt the brush of Altair’s nose against his jaw and his hands  around the back of his head he opened his eyes. “You’re a fiend,” he told him.

Altair smirked one of his delighted smirks, his eyes shadowed by his black hood. “You like it,” he said softly and kissed him. Malik kissed him back and a bit more of the weight slipped off his shoulders. He wasn’t in this by himself. Sure sometimes it _felt_ like that, since Altair would always have trouble with being stuck behind a desk, but really, he wasn’t. 

Altair tugged on his black robe, forward and down and Malik went till they sprawled on the pillows under the big window. Altair pressed his tongue against his lips, licked them, and then entered his mouth. It literally made Malik’s head spin a bit, especially because he liked it so much. He never thought that he’d crave another person’s touch, he’d always been too focused on his mission, or making sure his brother was safe, or any myriad of other things to worry too much about his libido beyond the comfort of his own hand. But this. He _craved_ this, because he’d never had it before. It was still new and while he wouldn’t call it sweet it made him feel good, feel wanted, in ways he hadn’t since he lost his arm and Azrael had condemned him to Jerusalem. To die, and be forgotten.

He slipped a hand into Altair’s robes, letting his hand touch skin as Altair licked at his mouth and lips. He didn’t notice or really care if he was aroused by this. Their relationship was strange, it was physical like this, but it wasn’t really sexual. One they were too busy for more then just this sort of groping during a slight pause in their day. And Two, just thinking about Altair like that made him more then a bit uncomfortable. Not that Altair himself made him uncomfortable, but remembering his face two winters ago when he had him up against the desk, mask crumbled before him, forced to-

Malik looked down, breaking the lip lock, breathe coming a bit short now. 

Shit.

He looked at Altair from under his brows, the other man looked relaxed and he still had one hand in his hair, the other was on Malik’s thigh, slowly tracing out an endless organic pattern. “Malik?” he asked, not in concern, almost as if he just wanted to say his name for the sake of saying it.

“You. Are the worst distraction I’ve ever seen,” Malik told him, sounding annoyed but really not. They both knew it.

Altair grinned at him, “Then I’m successful in keeping your mind off things that would give you headaches,” he said and swiped his fingers through his bangs. “You should cut your hair, it’s getting long,” he added.

“Another thing on my to-do list,” Malik huffed.

“And it’s something you can’t give to me,” he said and pushed back his hood a bit, so Malik could easily see his eyes now, and his shortly cropped hair, barely an inch off his skull. “Maybe I should have the barber do when you’re asleep, since that’s the only time when you can take a moment to have it done,” he teased.

“Shit head,” Malik growled, through was grinning and leaned forward, brushing their noses together and then kissing Altair  again, the previous haunting thought gone. Altair sighed into his mouth and tugged him close so that Malik had to hold himself up with his hand now. He felt Altair let his wander slightly, over the curve of his hip, down the line of his thigh, up his chest and alone the planes of his body. It filled him with a warm feeling.

Probably too much time passed before he reminded himself that they did have work and couldn’t spend all day up here. Not that he wouldn’t mind. But really, the Order wasn’t going to run itself. He pulled away. “We need to go downstairs now,” he told Altair.

Altair sighed, “Fine.”

“Also,” he said as he sat back onto his calfs and adjusted his robes which had become slightly askew from Altair’s hands, “You need to take Kamal to get new robes. His are too small again.”

“Again?” Altair groaned. “When is he going to stop growing? I don’t remember nearly this bothersome when I hit my growth spurt.”

Malik chuckled, softly, “You did not need special robes like him. Now fix yourself up, we have things to do.”

“All right,” Altair pouted a little but did put himself back in order. They both stood. “What else after that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find something for you to do. You still need to tell me your idea of the threshing.”

“Only if you don’t yell and hit me again.”

“I can’t guarantee the first, but I won’t,” Malik said.

“Fair,” Altair nodded and collected Seif from the pillow. Malik was already halfway out the door when Altair followed.


	17. Rain Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had… no idea where this chapter was going. It turned out rather well though so I’m happy about that! It did turn into a bit of “Xazz makes their OCs give Malik problems”.
> 
> B4M and FM have been sucking all my creative juices recently so that’s why there’s been no update here for a while. Sorry! Hopefully we’ll be seeing more soon. Beeecaaaause GREEKS! Next chapter! Be excited!

A great crowd had gathered at the largest training ring at the front of the fortress, just inside the wall. They were all keen to see what was going on and the more brothers there the greater the crowd became. Malik was on the top of the ramp, looking down at it. Bo was in the ring with Rauf, slowly going through strange sword forms. Bo was teaching Rauf how to move through sword forms taught to him, and Rauf was teaching Bo how to use two swords. Very few of their brother’s could fight with two swords. Two weapons yes, as many used a sword in tandem with their hidden blade or a knife, but never two swords alone.

It had started more then a week ago. Bo had offered to show the men at Masyaf how he fought, as it was different then how they did, but it soon became obvious that Bo was a very poor teacher of a group and one on one was cumbersome. So, instead he taught one man and then he taught a class, with Bo to help. Rauf had volunteered instantly and even offered to show Bo how to duel wield. Of course the other instructors had wanted to learn too, but Rauf had weight to push around, and by that he meant he had standing above the others, even fellow Master Instructors. He was friends with the Masters, and that alone got him the privilege of getting Bo to teach him.

Of course just because it was one on one didn’t mean the others didn’t watch. It happened every day, just before dinner and sunset prayer for their Muslim brothers, Bo would go through the forms with Rauf, and Rauf would go through forms with Bo. Rauf was learning a lot more then Bo was however as the Chinese man was not the best fighter to begin with and thus learning to fight with two swords was difficult, especially as those swords were different then the one he’d brought with him. Rauf on the other hand was a master of masters, and even beat Altair often enough, and after the first lesson they locked in place and could perform them, while not as smoothly as Bo, with a high accuracy that few to none could match. That was what made Rauf such a good fighter, he could see someone do a move, do it a few times himself, and then he knew it.

After the class between them Bo would leave the training ring and-

The crowd of brothers clapped when the lesson ended. They’d all been paying attention and tomorrow morning, before breakfast, Rauf would hold his own class. Only Masters and instructors were allowed to attend however, and they in turn, would teach others. It was a good system. Bo bowed in his fashion, hands on the sides of his thighs and bending at the waist and then climbed out of the main ring.

Someone gave Rauf a towel to mope up the sweat on his face and some water. Malik leaned against the railing, nearly sitting on it. He usually missed the daily lesson with Bo, but he never missed this. On the other side of the ring he saw Altair’s black form like a crow amid doves and Kamal’s gray hood standing at his elbow. The others parted when Altair went forward and pulled off his black hood and shrugged out of his Mentor robes. Kamal took them and folded them in his arms as Altair jumped into the ring. 

Another cheer went up. The Order loved seeing their Mentor fight, especially fight Rauf, who seemingly everyone agreed was his only match. Malik wasn’t quite sure how true that was, in any case they were good matches for each other. Altair was a mass butcher who could cut through armies like butter, leaving only bodies and blood in his wake. Rauf was a duelist who could found and trimmed the lines of the best fighters, so people like Altair could go in and clean up the mess they’d started. They often ended in stalemates, Altair able to even defend against Rauf’s twin swords, and Rauf able to keep up with Altair’s ferocity. 

He pitied any fool who decided to fight them together. Malik and Altair had once fought together, they were both butchers, and he could recall times when, after a target had been eliminated, they’d had to fight their way out of an army. They’d left an ocean of blood behind them yes, but not without getting their own licks from more heavily armored or skilled fighters (this was before Altair was made a Master though, after that Azrael had only given Altair solo missions. Which was good since those missions often ended with Altair’s partner getting hurt _because_ of Altair and his blood lust). You sent people like Rauf in first, kill the commanders, disable the army, and then send in people like Altair; they kill the army. It was one of those unstoppable force meets an immovable object sort of relationship between the two, and Altair was the force, and Rauf would not be moved.

So watching them fight was always fun. Because there was nothing like it. They were both masters of their particular skill set, but Rauf still won sometimes. The times it didn’t end in a tie. Altair never ‘won’. It was good he never did. It reminded everyone that no matter how powerful, how blood thirsty, how skilled Altair, he was just human, and a human who could be beat. Sure only after Rauf had basically beat him into the ground, but it did happen.

Rauf handed back the cup and towel to who’d given it to him and met Altair at the middle of the ring. Neither were wearing much armor. This was just for fun after all, they were using blunted swords, and Altair wasn’t even in proper whites. His were thinner, flimsier, and easier to wear under the thick black robes of the Mentor, also a finer quality. Rauf’s were sturdy, and more protective and absorbent of any hits to him. They grasped forearms and Rauf smiled at Altair and said something to him that Malik could hear because of the distance. Altair’s lips twitched and they separated.

They seemed to sink into themselves, each drawing their weapons. Rauf just used one of his curved short swords against Altair. Most of the time, unless Altair started to piss him off. Then he’d draw the other and beat Altair senseless with it. Malik always enjoyed watching that happen, since he couldn’t beat Altair anymore, not with a sword at least, though his sword arm was still good. He beat Altair in other ways instead.

The fight started with them circling each other and the crowd of their brothers cheered them on, though neither moved towards the other. It was a waiting game at first, who would try to strike first. Malik turned away from the fight when a pair of feet stopped next to him. Kamal stood there with Altair’s black robes and hood, folded up neatly against his chest. He looked troubled. “Something wrong Kamal?” he asked.

“I saw Raafe in the crowd,” Kamal said.

“Ah? Does he had news?”

“No. I didn’t ask, not where people could hear,” Malik nodded, a wise choice. “But I’m… concerned.”

“Concerned?” he looked at Kamal questioningly.

“He’s troubled.”

His confusion turned to amusement, “I would think so,” he said, “Haytham is a good master, but he’s a perfectionist. It is probably nothing.”

“What if it is though?” the teenager pressed. “He’s on the front lines against… him,” he didn’t say Abbas, he was too smart for that. “What if he knows something we don’t. He also looked scared.”

Now Malik was interested, “Scared?” Kamal nodded slowly and he looked back at the fight at the first clash of steel. Altair had landed a hit of Rauf’s sword but that was all it was before they went back to evading. Good Assassins weren’t hit, when they fought one another it was in near silence, because they only struck to kill, and didn’t get hit for any reason. It was why these fights in particular could go on for a while, each of them just trying to land _one_ hit, because one hit was all it took to win. It was also why usually the start of maghrib ended the fight, because it didn’t actually _end_.

“Grand Dai,” Kamal cried seriously, jerking his attention away from the fight where Altair nearly bent back over double to avoid Rauf’s sword.

Malik appraised him, “Kamal,” he said, “Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll tell Haytham, and if Haytham thinks we need to know, then he’ll tell us,” he said it quietly so other then Kamal no one could hear.

“But what if he can’t tell him?” he asked and squeezed Altair’s robes closer to his chest.

“He can tell his master anything-

“There are some things you can’t,” Kamal said softly.

Malik leaned down a little and put a hand on Kamal’s shoulder, “What?” Kamal was staring at Malik’s chin, and then off to the side, he couldn’t look at Malik. “Kamal,” he said again to the swift sound of steel striking steel and a cheer.

“There are some things Raafe couldn’t tell him.”

“Like what? Hmm?” Malik rose his brows at him.

Kamal’s mouth worked for several moments, but nothing came out. “If someone _hurt him_ he wouldn’t tell,” and all the amusement left Malik’s face. He and Altair had had to deal with this with Kamal. Raafe still lived with the other novices, Kamal did not, he had his own room near their suites, if they needed him at night, and they did sometimes. The older novices were stricter now with bullying, and those seen to be lenient in their charges were disciplined severally by their instructors.

“Do you think that happened?” Malik asked him, very seriously.

“I don’t know. But it’s something he couldn’t tell Haytham.”

“And why not?”

Kamal swallowed, “I couldn’t tell you or the Master,” Kamal said, looking up at him and Malik felt his stomach ball up into a knot. It was true. The only reason they’d even _known_ was because Altair had gone down to speak with Kamal’s prefects, about the bruises on him. He was struck by a need to hug the teen, to protect him as they had before, though nothing was harming him. He refrained though. Not in public.

“I’ll speak with Haytham,” he said seriously and squeezed Kamal’s shoulder. Kamal nodded and Malik let him go as a huge roar went up.

“Now he’s done it,” Kamal said, as though the previous conversation hadn’t just happened. Rauf was crouched low at the edge of the ring and had both of his swords crossed in front of him like an eagle’s talons, his black brows low over his eyes. Altair was on the other side of the ring, waving his sword at him, teasing him.

“No this is good,” Malik said mildly, “It means he’ll be too tired to get all riled up when I break the news to him,” he said as Rauf flew at Altair, both swords cocked back. There was a ringing slap of steel and a loud ‘OOOH!!’ from the crowd and some laughter as Altair managed to flip out of the way of Rauf’s swords, but just barely.

“What news?” Kamal asked, looking up at him.

“We got a message from the coast, the Greeks have arrived at Latakia. We got a bird from Gur this afternoon. They’ll be here in a few days.”

“Oh,” Kamal frowned. “Altair isn’t happy about it?”

“It will interfere with what we’re doing for the Threshing,” Malik put his hand on his hip as Rauf and Altair thrashed back and forth at each other, neither landing a hit now, but he could see Rauf slowly picking up speed. Rauf was an immovable object, but when he wanted to move that object became hard to move around. “They’ll make it difficult.”

“But can’t you just… do what you want? You’re the Masters,” Kamal said, brow furrowed.

Malik chuckled, “If _only_ it were that easy,” he said, “We must adhere to laws as well, our laws, and the Greeks know them better than anyone. They’re traditional, conservative even by our standards, and hold the Creed above all else. They do not like change, and we plan to make many changes.”

“Oh,” Kamal said, though still frowning.

“Ha!” Malik called when Rauf unfooted Altair, smacked him with both his dull blades, and straddled Altair’s chest, swords crossing over his throat. “Go see to him,” he prodded Kamal away.

“You’ll talk to Haytham?” he made sure, his voice hard to hear over the sudden din of their brothers cheering over the end of the fight. Not that Altair had lost, but that they’d gotten a chance to see two masters, at the top of their art, fight. That happened rarely, as Master Assassins were few in number, and always busy.

“I’ll talk to Haytham,” Malik promised. Kamal nodded and then left him on the ramp as Altair released his sword. Rauf picked himself off him, sheathed his swords behind his back, and offered Altair a hand. He did enjoy seeing Altair get beat, especially by Rauf, who was nearly an entire head shorter then Altair and just about everyone else, but Altair was at least a gracious loser when Rauf beat him. 

From where he was standing Malik scanned the crowd around the ring. He saw his men, enjoying themselves, talking, some smiling, clearly appreciating what they’d just seen. Then, his eyes found one who wasn’t. His eyes narrowed when they rested on Abbas, who was standing in the crowd _staring_ at Malik. Malik stared back. ‘I see you,’ he said with his eyes.

Abbas’ cheek twitched and it was hard to see his expression through his beard but he almost seemed… amused. Malik didn’t let his own expression change. Then someone came up to Abbas, a man with a weak chin, a weaker beard, and a shaved head, and got his attention. Abbas nodded in Malik’s direction and the man openly stared at him. Malik would have to learn his name, when he talked to Haytham about Raafe. Then the bald man looked away and back at Abbas, saying something and they left. 

Malik watched them go until he lost them in the crowd of their brothers and looked back at the ring where Altair was pulling on his black robe again, Kamal holding his hood. He shook hands with Rauf again and, taking the hood from Kamal, climbed out of the ring.

Altair was tugging on the hood as he came up next to Malik, Kamal ran past them both, no doubt on an errand for Altair. “So?” he asked, standing next to his Grand Dai as the crowd dispersed. “What did you think?”

“That you are still a novice,” Malik told him pleasantly.

Altair rolled his eyes, “How droll,” he said.

“I have actual things to discuss with you though,” Malik said.

“Oh good.”

“I will meet you upstairs, I have to speak with someone first,” Altair nodded, and left him, going inside. As he did the imam that lived in the fortress (they also housed a priest and a kohen for this Christian and Jewish brothers) came out onto the platform overlooking the courtyard, calling for maghrib.

He knew Haytham was amid the brothers watching, he just had to find him. Haytham was Muslim, so he was coming for maghrib, he just had to wait. He finally found him and motioned to him subtly. There would be no sunset prayer for Haytham today. 

When he knew Haytham had seen he walked into the fortress, up the stairs and to his desk. He didn’t sit though, instead he went to pretend to be looking through some of the books that were kept on hands. Records, ledgers, an infinite number of books full of bloody feathers, important documents, history books as well, ones on philosophy too. Anything that could be useful. And this was only a small collection, it did not include the library a few floors up, nor the actual records room where scholars, lawyers, and accountants worked, though that was just for Masyaf. There was a much bigger library in Alamut.

He pulled a book down at random and opened it, leafing through it as he heard someone approach. “Grand Dai?” Haytham asked, sounding confused.

Malik looked up at him briefly, “Come into the shadows,” he motioned and Haytham entered the small alcove, and leaned against the wall, out of easy sight of anyone walking by. Malik closed the book, put it up, and reached for another.

“You needed to see me Grand Dai?” he asked. Malik usually didn’t call on Haytham like this.

“Yes,” Malik turned to him, face serious. “Kamal came to me today. He’s worried over Raafe.”

“Raafe?” Haytham seemed confused, “What about him?”

“He said he looked scared, that something was wrong.”

Haytham’s brows creased. “In what way?”

“I’m not sure,” Malik said. “But you know our stance on… such things,” the pause told Haytham exactly what he needed to know.

His rage was instantaneous. “You think someone has _hurt_ my novice?” he growled, hands balled into fists, looking ready to leap at the next thing that moved and wasn’t Malik. He was hovering just off the wall, unable to lean against it even. Well, at least now Malik knew Haytham wasn’t responsible for anything that might be happening to Raafe. His reaction was genuine.

“I couldn’t say,” Malik said calmly and put the new book up as well. “Kamal merely mentioned it to me. I thought it best to bring it up in case something _happened_. I am on your side Haytham, I don’t want anything to happen to him, he’s the first of his kind,” Haytham was nodding.

“Don’t start with bad seeds,” Haytham said and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Malik could see the way his left hand shook. He was holding it in, but just so.

“Don’t scare him,” Malik reminded him.

“I won’t,” he took another deep breath, “He’s just _important_ _to me_. If someone _did something-_ “ he bit it off in a snarl and turned away from Malik. Malik let him stand in silence a few moments. “I’ll take care of it,” he said and sounded to have mastered himself.

“Good. Keep me updated on the situation,” Malik said, still calm.

Haytham turned back to him, “Was there something else, Grand Dai?” he asked, yes in much better control now.

“Yes. There is a man, bald, with a weak face, who seems close to Abbas. Who is he?”

“That would be Swami,” Haytham said, “He’s Abbas’ lap dog, his yes man. He’s right above me in chain of command in Abbas’ fucked up circle of snakes.”

“So he’s Abbas’ right hand man? His own ‘Grand Dai’,” he said with great amusement.

“Do not even compare yourself to him. He’s an idiot. Abbas is a weak fighter, we all know that. There is a reason he isn’t a Master, and not just because you don’t like him. Swami is young, he was in the class _below_ _me_ ,” Malik’s brows went up with interest. Haytham had only gotten his white robes perhaps two years before he’d been sent to kill at Madj Adin’s funeral, barely an Assassin, still considered a journeyman by most though he no longer wore gray. “He’s good with a sword though.”

“How good?”

“Good enough that if he wasn’t with Abbas he’d earn his Master title before he was thirty. Not as quickly as Altair for sure,” no, of course not. Altair had been twenty when he’d gained that rank, the youngest Master there had ever been. No one questioned it though because Altair deserved it. He _was_ a Master. “But still a good deal sooner then any of his brothers.”

“So Abbas has an attack dog for a second in command,” Malik said blandly.

“Yes. He’s stupid, but fiercely loyal. He thinks of Abbas as an elder brother, would do anything for him. I’ve heard, and this was only a rumor mind you, he beat a novice when he bumped into Abbas and didn’t apologize; on Abbas orders.” Malik’s eyes narrowed. The rules were that only instructors or non combatant brothers were allowed to beat novices without a very good reason. Abbas was flaunting a power he thought he had. “No one’s been able to confirm it,” he added.

“Pity,” as Malik’s dry reply. “Well,” and then she smiled darkly, “Abbas isn’t the only brain in this fortress with an attack dog. And mine’s bigger,” Haytham grinned as well. “That’s all we needed to discuss,” he said.

“Good,” Haytham nodded, “Excuse me Grand Dai,” and he slipped out of the alcove. Malik had no doubt he was going to find Raafe, right now, and sort this out. That was good. 

He hoped it wasn’t what they’d been implying. He did not wish that on anyone. He’d seen what it had done to poor Kamal, he’d been so jumpy for months after it had happened, unable to even _be_ in the room it had happened in. Luckily he’d had a friend with the older novices, they’d let him stay with them, until Altair had decided having Kamal around all the time was more convenient for them both and put him in a small room across the landing from them which were guest rooms for important visitors. 

He knew Altair was just as concerned as he had been though, especially when they’d gone through the boys. All younger novices had to speak with their prefects, if they were getting bullied one of the instructors went to investigate the claim. At least one novice from each of the novice wings had been killed for bullying, and not just normal bullying, but beating, or, in the case of Abdul Wahid, sent to the dungeons for sodomy. That was about six, and since then they’d had no problems. Bullying was _not_ tolerated in Masyaf, they were brothers, family. To hurt your brother was to hurt yourself. He hoped that there wouldn’t need to be another investigation if Raafe was being abused, because Altair _did not_ tolerate such things. Even if Raafe wasn’t his personal novice it would be seen as an insult, he wouldn’t permit it to continue.

Malik left the alcove as well and headed upstairs. Jari was at the top of the stairs, sitting in the window, trying to catch the breeze as it could get warm up here without a wind. He lifted his hand to Malik who nodded in return and opened Altair’s door.

Kamal was inside, though he didn’t see Altair, he was tidying up some things. “Kamal,” he called, the boy looked at him, “I’ve spoken with Haytham.”

‘Thank you,” Kamal said.

“Where is he?”

“Bathing,” and Kamal turned away from Malik who walked to the bedroom. There was a side room that _should_ have been a closet, but they did not have that many clothes even between them. It had been since been renovated into a private bathing room, though had no tub, the floor done fresh in tile and two drains in the floor that ran outside to empty into a gutter.

He found Altair here, a basin in front of him, filled with water, sitting on a low stool, stripped naked, back half turned towards the door. It smelled clean in the tiny once-a-closet, the scent of the soap minimal. Malik stepped out of his shoes before walking over to him, Altair didn’t pause and as Malik went to stand behind him he draped a dripping towel over his nearly bald head and picked the bar of soap up out of the basin. Slowly, Malik reached out and laid his bare hand on Altair’s wet shoulder blade.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Altair said as Malik let his hand slowly trail down his back with just the tip of his index and middle finger touching his skin.

“I had to talk with Haytham.”

“About?”

“Nothing of importance at the moment. If it comes to it I’ll tell you. I hope it won’t come to that though, it will make you angry.”

“Mmm, that’s never good,” Altair said, lathering up his arms. “I tend to kill people when I’m angry.”

“All the more reason you’re not being told until I have more information,” Malik slid his hand up and under the towel on his head. 

“Very well,” Altair said, tipping his head back slightly as Malik massaged his scalp with the pads of his fingers.

“And I learned of Abbas’ right hand man.”

“Oh lovely. Can I kill _him_? Since you won’t let me kill Abbas,” he could imagine Altair’s face, though he couldn’t see it at this angle.

“No.”

“Damn,” and Altair ran the bar of soap along his legs, bending down and out of Malik’s reach. Malik let his finger nails move down his spine lightly. “That’s why you aren’t telling me his name I take it?”

“Oh look at that, you _can_ learn new things,” and Altair chuckled at Malik’s teasing. Still bent over her grabbed the towel from his head and dunked it in the basin before rinsing his legs of suds. 

“There’s something else,” Altair said, conversationally, “I can feel it, and you don’t want to tell me. Out with it, lets get whatever obvious unpleasantness this is going to be out of the way.”

“… I received a bird from Gur after lunch,” Malik said and Altair stilled and sat up, turning to look at him. “The Greeks have landed.” Altair swore and turned back around. “They aren’t due for a few days, another week at the most. But their coming.”

“Bastards couldn’t wait till _after_ the Threshing could they?” Altair growled.

“I doubt they care about the inconvenience.”

“No shit. Or they would have waited till winter,” winter was not particularly a slow time of the year. But it was constant, and predictable, and _not_ during the fucking _Threshing_ , which was always the most chaotic time for the Order. The Greeks would arrive in a few days and who knew how long they’d stay, and the Threshing started in eleven days. They’d already sent envoys out to some towns who paid tribute to them, the larger ones, who would be there to watch the town and it’s children. Only those worthy would be brought back to Masyaf. Not to mention children from the other kingdoms around Syria were going to be brought in. Orphans, the sons of their own men, or children Dais or Masters had taken interest in and in developing their skills. Many of their new students were old thieves, used to running around rooftops, and even more used to the beatings, though the ones at Masyaf were never as harsh as the ones they would receive in the street.

“You know how the Greeks are,” Malik said patiently. Altair just grumbled to himself irritably. “You’ll _behave_ for them.”

“I’m the fucking Grandmaster-

“You are a _half breed_ ,” Malik reminded him and he felt Altair tense under his hand. “The Greeks have never been happy that the seat of the Mentor has been in Syria the two hundred or so years. You _know_ they are purists, Greeks and _only_ Greeks  may join their branch of the Order. They do not take those with other blood, and they will find if you have other blood. Mixed blood is abhorrent to them.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?” Altair asked him softly.

“No. I’m _reminding you_ why you will _behave_ ,” and he gripped the name of Altair’s neck firmly. “They do not like you on principle of your mixed blood, not to mention your mother is Armenian,” Altair’s entire body twitched. “And you have an Armenian scribe on top of that. That entire country is in Templar control, don’t forget.”

“Like I could,” Altair growled, glaring at Malik out of the corner of his eye.

“Good. So?”

“… Just tell me what to do,” he said.

Malik smiled, “Good,” he said and pressed his lips to the top of Altair’s head, his fingers kneading the back of his neck. Altair made a soft groaning noise, like a purr. “Let me deal with the Greeks, you worry about the Threshing.”

“All right.”

“You may have to do it on your own.”

Altair’s head tipped back, “What?” he asked, amber eyes flashing.

“Someone has to play host to the Greeks, and you won’t.”

“But this was something _we_ were going to do.”

“Need me to hold your hand Altair?” he teased, gently stroking the side of his neck with the back of his fingers.

Altair scowled up at him, “No,” and he righted his head.

“Good. If it all goes well I’ll still come along. I can leave them in Munahid’s hands,” Munahid was practically their third in command, and was _always_ busy. He ran the things Malik didn’t have time to get to because he was ensuring the Order ran and continued to run and thrive and not piss anyone off. He made sure the kitchen and store rooms stayed stocked, that guards were sent out and rotated on time. The little things Malik couldn’t do because if he did he’d literally never have time to sleep, even with Altair’s help. Everyone who saw Malik first went through Munahid, and he had helpers at that. He was happy there at least.

“He’d love that,” Altair said and went back to washing.

“About as much as me,” Malik said pleasantly. “Give me the soap,” he ordered.

Altair glanced back at him, “Going to join me?”

“No, now give,” and Altair bent down and picked it up, handing it to Malik over his shoulder. He proceeded to drag the bar across Altair’s scalp, his hair was so short it would have been a waste of shampoo, he soaped up Altair’s back while he was at it, Altair made a pleasant hum as he did so, enjoying the attention.

“When the Greeks arrive,” Altair said, “What’s going to happen?”

“We’ll play host of course. I’ll give warning to the instructors to keep their students in line. The rest of the fortress knows what our Greek brothers are like. Even Abbas will stay in line.”

“You sure about that?”

“I had classes with him when we were younger,” Malik said, washing Altair’s back now. “I know _you_ weren’t paying attention.”

“It was boring,” Altair didn’t even know what class it was, but it probably was.

“We were learning about history, _our_ history. One of our brothers who had gone to Greece was telling us about them, do you remember?” he asked, sort of leaning around to see Altair’s face.

“Not… really,” Altair said with a slight frown.

“He looked very serious about it,” Malik said. “And as much as he hates you he doesn’t want to give _them_ the idea that somehow you’re incapable. If that happens they could file for your deposition and put _one of them_ on the seat of the Mentor. No one wants that, especially him.”

Altair’s head twisted around, “Could they do that? Depose me?”

“They could try. It would take a long time but if they thought you were not fit for it, yes they could depose you.”

“I didn’t even know a Mentor _could_ be deposed,” Altair frowned.

“It’s happened once, in Rome apparently, before we moved East. Towel,” he ordered and Altair handed up the dripping towel. He pressed it across Altair’s head. “It’s hard to do, and requires votes from several different branches, which is why it doesn’t happen. Usually the Mentors who _would_ be deposed just end up slipping away in their sleep.”

“You mean they’re murdered.”

“Oh yes,” Malik said. “Zaki told me Azrael killed the Mentor before him. And you did the same.”

Altair looked at him, “My successor will not kill me,” he told Malik seriously.

“No, they won’t,” Malik agreed, handing him back the towel and Altair rinsed it out and handed it back, Malik washed the suds off his back. “You have a very different Mentorship then Azrael, or Rashid before him. They were both stuck in the past, like our Greek brothers actually,” Altair ‘hmmed’.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, “Masters,” Kamal called, “dinner is waiting.”

“We’ll be along,” Altair called back. “You done?” he asked Malik.

He handed Altair the towel, “No.” Altair rinsed it out.

“Well I’m hungry,” Altair said, “Fighting works up my appetite.”

Malik chuckled, “Almost,” and he leaned down a little and wiped off the last bit of suds on his tail bone. He then leaned against Altair’s damp back and dropped the towel into the basin with a splash. “We need to be careful,” Malik said, his arm wrapping around the top of Altair’s chest. “And _you_ need to be on your best behavior when they come. I literally can’t stress that enough.”

“I’ll be an angel,” Altair said teasingly.

Malik snorted, “Just behave: don’t kill, or threaten, or growl at any of them.”

“Then I won’t be able to even speak to them,” Altair said in a fake whine.

“I know,” Malik grinned and kissed his neck.

“You’re mean to me,” Altair huffed.

“Only because I want what’s best,” and he unwound from Altair, standing up properly. “Get dressed, it’s time for dinner,” he added.

“Mmm,” was Altair’s reply as Malik left the once-a-closet, “I’ll be right along.”

“Don’t take forever to preen,” Malik called back at him. Altair just huffed a sigh and Malik could imagine him rolling his eyes. He left Altair in the bedroom, their dinner was set up under the window and the cats were enjoying their dinner on the wall, and Kamal was probably off getting his own dinner. Malik sighed contently as he fell onto the pillows, one step at a time.


	18. Red Lily

When one of their brother’s suddenly ran up to Altair and his desk not only unannounced but uninvited it had better have been for a _good_ reason. It was nearly lunch and they’d been going over the final plans for the Threshing in a week’s time. There was a lot to do and Malik wanted this Threshing to go much smoother then last year. “Something had better be the matter,” Malik told the Assassin sharply.

He gulped air and said, in a rush on one lungful of air, “I’m from the western tower, we spotted the Greeks down in the valley and my commander dispatched me to alert you that they’ll be here soon.”

Malik turned to Altair who glanced at him from under his hood. He didn’t look pleased. “That indeed is something then,” Malik said, “Sit,” he said and motioned to one of the nearby guards, “Get out brother some water, the western tower is quite a ride,” they nodded, still breathing heavy and he had no doubt that he’d _sprinted_ up the mountain.

“What do you need me to do?” Altair asked him.

Malik rubbed his mouth, “I need you to get dressed in your full regalia,” he said.

He made a face, “But it’s so hot out,” he complained.

“I know, but you can’t be anything less then impressive. Now go.”

“What about you? Don’t you have to dress?”

“I am not the Mentor,” Malik reminded him, “I am just a Dai with a bit more authority then most.”

“The only one who buys that is Bo,” Altair scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

“And the Greeks will. Now go,” he snapped his fingers at Kamal, “Make sure he doesn’t miss anything, and lock the cats inside the room.”

“Hey that isn’t-

“Once we’ve met the Greeks we’ll see about letting them out again. Now do I have to say it again?” Malik demanded.

“C’mon Master, you know how Master Malik gets when he’s in a mood,” Kamal said.

“Yeah Malik, a mood,” and Malik was sure Altair was going to stick his tongue out at him. He didn’t though and got to his feet. Kamal followed after him like a little gray shadow.

Malik motioned for another guard, they came over. “I need the following people _now_ ,” they nodded. “Rauf, Munahid, Navid, Zaki, Saar, and Bo.”

“Yes Grand Dai,” and they left quickly, nearly running and motioning to the others with them so there were more pairs of feet to get the people Malik required. As he waited Malik organized the desk, which was more then a little messy from the day’s work. He put things away, threw others onto the lamp to be burned to ash, or put them into stacks so it looked nice. Sensitive information got put away. 

Someone padded up to his desk, “Grand Dai,” they ventured, looking at the man from the western tower who was still sitting to the side nursing a cup and pitcher.

He looked up, this man was not one of those he’d summoned. “It will have to wait brother-

“I’m afraid it can’t Grand Dai,” he said nervously.

“What then? If this isn’t important I will not be pleased brother.”

“The tithe from Mecca just arrived, Master,” they said and Malik’s head spun.

“ _Now_?” he asked staring at them.

“They arrived earlier then expected, sir. We don’t know what to do with them,” he gnawed his top lip.

“Just what I need,” Malik swore. “You,” he pointed to the man sitting, “When those I sent for arrive send them down to the front if I’m not back here yet.”

“Yes Grand Dai,” he bobbed his head and Malik shooed the new man with the bad news from Mecca. The Assassin did a small, nervous, jump into action before walking, Malik following quickly behind and he was led downstairs.

“Crap,” Malik said to himself. A dozen boys ranging in age from six to twelve were huddled behind a group of their brother’s looking into the fortress warily. He approached the leader, a Master Assassin from Arabia.

“Grand Dai,” they bowed their head.

“Your name?”

“Master Faraz, sir,” he said.

“What are you doing here? The Threshing season doesn’t begin for another week,” Malik said sternly.

Faraz seemed uncomfortable. He very well knew when the Threshing season was obviously. “Mecca is currently experiencing political trouble, Grand Dai,” he said. “Our council thought that it would be in the best interest of our Order and our novices to leave early. As it was they were going through Mecca looking for non Muslim boys, I don’t want to think what they would do to them.”

“And so are they all non Muslim?” Malik asked sharply.

“No, sir,” he shook his head. “Four are Christian, two are Jewish, one comes from the old ways, the rest are Muslim.”

Malik did a quick, proper, head count. There were thirteen boys, six of them were Muslim. “You could not protect seven non Muslim boys in Mecca?” he demanded.

“I apologize, sir. Our council decided this, I am merely their messenger.”

Right. Of course. Don’t kill the messenger. He probably knew, coming here, that they would be early. The Threshing took place during only a specific time, it was time the Order set aside in which nearly all outside activity _stopped_ , because there was an influx of children moving into the fortress and honestly, very few of their brothers didn’t have some sort of soft spot for their youngest novices. Usually because they were sort of scared and didn’t know what was going on and thus weren’t annoying. It was also as close to having children as many of them ever got usually. It was a very busy time and all of their resources and time went into making sure it went smoothly and that things stayed on track.

He took a deep breathe, he needed to focus and take charge, “Grand Dai?” he turned.

“Ah, Rauf, perfect,” he said when the Master Instructor appeared behind him and right behind him he could see Munahid coming around a corner. “I need you to find a place for twelve new novices,” he said.

“Twelve?”

“Yes.”

Rauf blinked, “It’s on short notice nothing is-

“I know. But today I _can not_ hear no,” he said firmly.

“They’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Of course then,” he nodded. “I’ll find something,” and he scratched his head, eyes widening as he looked down a bit, clearly thinking.

“Grand Dai, Malik,” Munahid said when he came up to him.

Malik held up a hand to Munahid until he was done with Rauf. “Also inform the instructors that classes are canceled for today, they and the prefects are to keep the younger novices in their dormitories. Those who venture out will be punished _severely_.”

Rauf didn’t even blink, “Yes,” he nodded. “I think I know a place,” he added.

“Good,” Malik turned back to Faraz. “Brother, this is one of our Master Instructors, Rauf. He’ll be seeing to your charges.”

“Oh good,” the Master said, seemingly very relieved.

“Is this the first time you’ve brought boys for tithe?” Rauf asked him. Faraz nodded almost shyly, “Come with me, all of you,” he added, pointing at the six other brothers who were standing in a circle around the young boys. “There are things that need to be done,” and then he turned and walked into the fortress. 

Munahid stepped up to Malik to get out of the way of the boys and their brothers. “You needed me Malik? Also there is-

“I don’t have time today Munahid. Later, or tomorrow.”

Munahid frowned, “What is it Malik?” he asked, serious now.

“Greeks will be here soon. I need you and your people to ensure that everything is ready. I know you’ve working towards this, now it has to happen.”

“Of course,” Munahid nodded and behind Munahid he saw Saar.

“Good, off you go I have more people to speak to,” he said. Munahid bowed a little and they both entered the fortress though Munahid almost immediately veered off. “Back upstairs,” he said to Saar who turned on his heel to walk with Malik. Saar was a Master and the Commander of the fortress guard, he ensured that all watches were manned and shifted at their correct time. His counterpart was Navid, was the Commander of the town guard as well as stationed men the four towers at lower altitudes. His duties were the same as Saar’s only he only dealt with the affairs of the town of Masyaf as well as those at the base of the mountain in their direct protection but not in Masyaf itself. Technically they were the same in rank but Saar often deferred to Navid because he was both older, and led more men. He was waiting for Malik at his desk. 

“Navid,” he said in greeting, “good,” and he went around the back of the desk, but did not sit. Instead he stood in between his and Altair’s chairs.

“My man was just informing me of the situation,” Navid said, he had a big scar on his cheek, long since healed though. He had a no nonsense face and was a perfect fit for his title as Commander. Thankfully he was tempered by Saar.

“Situation?” Saar asked, he was about ten years Navid’s junior (both of them were still older then Malik and Altair) and while took his duty very seriously was much more flexible in terms of both the rules, the Creed, and daily life. He also made sure his men didn’t beat novices if they caught them doing things that were against the rules, which was more then could be said for the man who had been in his place before. Malik could remember a few times he’d been hit by a guard for wandering a bit too far off the beaten path, or too close to something he wasn’t supposed to. They all had. Saar preferred to report them to the prefects and instructors who’d deal out the proper punishment for disobedience.

“It’s time,” Malik said. His eyes darted to the side at a flash of color and he saw Bo coming towards them, as well as Zaki. The old man held onto the Chinaman’s arm before he could get too close though, no doubt telling him to give Malik a moment. “As you know Navid, the Greeks will be arriving soon. We estimate a few hours,” he looked at their brother, who was sitting.

“Three at most when I left, sir,” he said.

“I don’t need to tell you what needs to be done,” and Malik put his hand behind his back, standing up very tall.

“No, sir,” Saar said. “I’ll ensure my men are where they should be.”

“Good, and Navid,” he added, “I don’t know how many men you currently have in the fortress, but I want them to go around and alert everyone to this. Make sure _everyone_ knows that our brothers are to arrive, literally, at any moment, depending on how hard they ride. I’m sure it goes without saying that those who act out today will not be looked well upon by me or the Master.”

“I understand, sir,” Navid nodded.

“That is all,” he waved them away and they went to do their jobs.

Once they were gone and Zaki had let him go Bo practically bounded up to him. He was an easily excitable sort, very curious about everything. “You required me?” Bo asked.

“Yes. Bo,” Malik appraised him a moment, wondering how to word this. “Some of our brothers are visiting from another country,” he nodded. “I’m going to have to ask you that when they arrive that you stay in your room.”

Bo frowned, “What? Why? Have I done something wrong Master?”

“No, you have not,” he was quick to assure. “But I am concerned for your safety, these brothers of ours do not like outsiders. As it is they barely tolerate the rest of us and only because they’re so small they haven’t seen to the end of the rest of us. Until we know what they’ll do I’m going to ask you to stay out of sight as I would hate to have to send a bird all the way to Hua Shan about your death.”

“My brothers would not be pleased,” Bo said.

“ _We_ would not be pleased. I know this may seem ridiculous, but it is how it is going to be. And until further notice your training sessions with Rauf is suspended.” The look on Bo’s face made him feel awful in all honesty. “This is just until they leave,” he assured him, “As it was they would have been suspended during the Threshing season anyway.”

“…Threshing?”

“An explanation for another time,” Malik waved away Bo’s inquiry. “Brother,” he motioned to the messenger who’d brought the news, “Please escort our brother to his room, if he needs anything please fetch it.”

“Of course Grand Dai,” he said with a nod.

“When we know their intentions and we know it’s safe someone will come for you,” he told Bo.

“I don’t know who these brothers of ours are, but so far I’m not liking them,” and behind him Zaki chuckled. “What is it?”

“No one likes the Greeks, not even other Greeks,” Zaki said mirthfully.

“Now, please,” Malik shooed Bo and the messenger off.

Zaki stepped forward and before Malik could say anything Zaki said, “Take a deep breath,” and Mali, who’d been conditioned to obey orders from his elders, stopped and took a deep breath. “Hold it,” Malik did, after about five seconds Zaki said, “And let it out,” and Malik released it all at once. He felt a bit calmer. “Now, what do you need?”

“That was amazing,” Malik informed him and Zaki chuckled. “And I needed that, thank you.”

“You have time Malik,” Zaki reminded him.

“Not nearly enough.”

“I know. But you _have time_ ,” Zaki said slowly, pointedly. “Do not like this get the best of you. We knew this would come.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“You’ve spoken with Saar and Navid, who else is on your list?”

“I spoke with Rauf and Munahid as well. An early tithe came in from Mecca,” Zaki’s nose scrunched in sympathy. Wrinkles during the Threshing were expected, but never pleasant, you just had to work around them. Still this was _too early_ for the Threshing season, they weren’t ready. The entire fortress had been preparing for the Greeks, rooms for the new novices hadn’t been prepared yet. Arabia had filled it’s yearly tithe of a dozen but the other count-

No. Focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t worry about the Threshing now. “So what do you need?”

Malik opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, “A nap,” and Zaki laughed. “No but I need… I need Altair,” he frowned and pulled on his chin, fingering his goatee.

“He is…?”

“Getting dressed.”

“As you should,” Zaki said, Malik was only wearing a pale shirt under his robes and some work pants. They weren’t proper clothes to welcome a contingency of their brothers to Masyaf.

“It’s more important that-

“You must look the part as well,” Zaki interrupted, if it literally was anyone _but_ Zaki Malik would have glared. You _did not_ interrupt the Grand Dai when he spoke, everyone knew that, even Abbas knew that as Malik had a glare that could cripple lesser men. But this was Zaki and Malik and Altair had kept him around so that he’d tell them what to do when they didn’t know. “You are Grand Dai, the first, and maybe only one there will ever be. You need to make a good impression.”

Malik frowned significantly at Zaki, “Yes but-

“The world will not fall around your head if you take a moment to prepare,” Zaki reminded him gently. “Everyone knows what to do, we’ve prepared for this since we got the news,” which was true of course. Everyone knew the seriousness that came with a Greco visit. “Now, if it will put you at ease _I_ will stay here if anyone needs anything.” Malik said nothing, it might as well have been consent. “Good,” Zaki nodded with a smile, “Now off you go before I have someone fetch that Ehan character,” Malik frowned at him again, Zaki continued to smile, but Malik did leave.

He forced his mind to just _stop_ for a few minutes. Jari was on watch, “Get Ehan and Christopher,” he ordered when he was in sight. Christopher was their third guard who watched the late night shift and the odd watch when Jari or Ehan didn’t want it. Full guard was a lot to ask from two men, it had been easier with Diyari and Haytham, but both had been given other duties two years ago. Christopher had been brought on to help relieve the strain on Jari and Ehan. He was big, Christian and fiercely loyal to Altair, which was why the other two had brought him on board.

“Kamal already went to get them,” Jari said.

“Good,” and he went into Altair’s room. The bedroom door was open and as he closed the front door a tabby slipped into the room though he couldn’t tell if it was Sawsan or Kanwai. He went to the bedroom, Altair was sitting on the bed, fully dressed save for his hood, which was grasped in his hands, and he was staring at it.

He looked up when Malik entered, his eyes were fiercely blank and not even Malik could decipher what was behind them. “Are they here?” he asked, his voice a breath of a whisper.

“Not yet,” Malik said and moved into the room. Inside he pulled off his clothes, setting his blacks on the bed next to Altair and stripped thoroughly, going into the once-a-closet to take away some of the sweat and stink of the early day. When he turned around Altair was still sitting where he’d been before, though he’d pulled his hood on and it obscured his head. “What is it?” Malik asked and pulled on a set of underclothes, the longer sleeve of his undershirt obscuring what was left of his arm.

Altair didn’t answer him. Malik went around to the front of him, the other man was looking down, staring at his hands. Malik grabbed him by the chin and yanked his head up. For a brief instant Malik saw his eyes flash with surprise, and then cool, becoming as flat as the surface of a pond. “Speak,” he ordered, holding Altair’s chin firmly.

“What do you want me to say?” Altair asked.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You lie badly to me Altair, don’t try to,” he said sternly.

Altair blinked at him, “I don’t want to screw up,” he said softly.

Malik smiled at him with the same fondness you gave a child when they did something silly. His hand changed position to rest against his cheek, “You won’t,” he promised and stroked Altair’s cheek with his thumb. “Let me do the talking.”

“I planned to,” Altair said.

“But do not be simply silent. You are Grandmaster, what you say has great weight, so if and when you do speak, make sure you mean it.”

“And you?” he asked.

He gave Altair a pat on the face, “I have a more silver tongue then you,” and he let Altair go and went to pull on more clothes. Normally they just wore simple whites under their black robes. But not today. Today was to impress, so everything was well made and well tailored. Malik had only worn these clothes once or twice, when they’d been fitted and when they’d been sworn in as Masters and while they fit perfectly they still felt a bit strange.

Altair was looking at him when he turned from the wardrobe, half his face masked in shadow, “What?” he asked. Altair just shook his head and as Malik went back over to the bed Altair stood. Though they were the same height Malik hesitated for a second as Altair suddenly looked _much_ bigger then he was. Taller, broader, more muscular, the red sash around his waist like a dragon’s red tongue. Then he picked up Malik’s top, black, robe as Malik came to the edge of the bed and helped him into it. Obviously Malik could do it himself, but Altair did not ask if he wanted help, he was simply giving it. Malik did not rebuke him for it as he tugged the open edges of the robe together, jerking Malik towards him another step.

Up close he could feel Altair’s breath, and feel the shadow of his eyes under his hood, moving around his face. Malik rose his brows at him, but Altair said nothing to him. Then his hands tightened on the cloth and pulled him forward again and their lips met. It was a surprisingly soft kiss for the intensity that Altair had been showing and Malik felt a bit of tension slide off his shoulders. Malik reached up and grabbed the side of Altair’s hood so he couldn’t get away until Malik was done with him.

When they broke for air he found Altair’s arms around his waist, and Malik kept a hold on his hood still. Their noses were almost touching they were so close and now Malik could see Altair’s eyes under his hood, they weren’t blank, but they weren’t pleased, they looked worried. Fearful even. Malik kissed him lightly again on the lips. “We’ll be fine,” Malik told him softly, their noses brushing against each other. Altair continued to say nothing. “We will be,” he said again, “Say it,” he ordered.

“We’ll be fine,” Altair said in a whisper, though without a tremor, if slightly mechanical.

“There is no need to fear them,” Malik reminded him, “ _They_ should fear _you_.”

“Should an Order fear it’s Mentor?” Altair asked.

Malik smirked a little, “They should love, respect, and fear him in equal measure. You are Mentor, and they are men from far away, do not let them intimidate you.”

“Or you,” Altair added.

“I have you with me, very little can intimidate me,” and he let go of Altair’s hood to caress his face.

“Really?” Altair asked, surprised.

“Of course. Everyone knows you are the sword, and I am the hand. We both have our roles and are uniquely suited to them. Not even Abbas wants me to notice him anymore, for all that he’ll glare at me, because he knows that I’m the only thing between him, and your blade,” Altair did not seem insulted to basically being called Malik’s tool. Altair _was_ a tool, he was a sword and a hunting hawk, it was all he wanted with his life really, he wanted to have a purpose, and someone to tell him that purpose. Malik was Altair’s guiding hand and told him where to hit, where to strike, one could not work without the other and just as Altair needed Malik to do what he did Malik needed him as well, or there was no authority behind what he did because a man would hit back against a fist, but they would cower in front of a sword. “They should fear you as Masyaf fears you.”

Then Altair smiled and it was deadly.

—

There were men on the battlements, but the courtyard was empty. At this time of day novices should have been out in the practice areas, training: now they were in their rooms, contained at best to their common rooms. Men in gray would be punished if found wandering the halls today, save for one, who stood just behind Malik’s elbow. He and Altair were waiting for them just inside the gate, Jari, Ehan, and Christopher behind them. No one would touch the Masters’ rooms today, they would not draw attention to themselves. Malik could feel the eyes of every man not on the walls peering out of the fortress at them, trying to see what would happen, maybe get to hear them too.

They heard them before they saw them, they were talking and Malik couldn’t understand, but then they were speaking Greek so that was obvious. Then they came up the steps cut into the mountain. They dressed in pure white, their clothes overlapping over their shoulders with a side seem, a gray-red sash around their waists. They all wore their hoods up and wore sandals, not boots, which was strange.

They stopped talking when they came up to the gate and Malik the men at the front of the wall were standing up very straight to look impressive. There were five men in the group, all of them older, and bearded, save one, who was young, though not _young_ , more Malik or Altair’s age and in that moment Malik felt deceptively young. He was only twenty-seven, most Mentors gained the position when they were in their late thirties or their forties. To these men they must look like _children_ and he wondered what the purpose of the younger man was.

Then he couldn’t think of that any longer as they were in front of them. “Greetings brothers,” Malik said. The men looked slightly confused.

Thankfully someone said something though he was surprised at who did. “ _Brothers, we welcome you to Masyaf,_ ” Altair said, in the most flawless Latin Malik had ever heard. Not even _he_ could speak Latin that well!

The arrivals seemed to understand the language barrier and a man who’d looked momentarily insulted did no longer as Malik was no trying to insult them. _“Thank you_ ,” they said and there was a weird silence, like they both expected the other to do something.

Malik was about to say something but Altair spoke again, _“You don’t bow before the Mentor? I had assumed the Greeks had more manners the brothers here_ ,” and the tone was very obviously insulted.

Malik was actually impressed, Altair had effectively tripped up the Greeks, because they looked like they’d just been reprimanded by their fathers, “ _Apologies, sir_ ,” one said, _“We are simply unawake_ who _the Mentor is_.”

 _“I am_ ,” Altair said, “ _Altair al-Umar ibn la’Ahad Mentor of the Brotherhood of Assassins. This is your Grand Dai, Malik al-Sayf, and should be shown every respect which you show me,”_ he motioned to Malik and he refrained from bowing first.

 _“It is an honor_ ,” the eldest man said and the five men bowed to them, just enough to be respectful. He supposed it could be thought as such, not knowing who was who as both he and Altair wore their hoods up, though it felt strange for Malik, strange and yet comforting too. He’d missed his hood. But the hood was Altair’s. Though they should have guessed who was who simply by the patterning on the robes. 

They bowed back, their guards and Kamal bowing much deeper then they, which was barely more then inclining the shoulders. _“Please, it’s dreadfully hot out today,_ ” Malik said, his Latin was good, but not like Altair’s and was stained by his Arabic to the point even he could hear it. _“And I’m sure you’ve had a long day, I’m sure you wish to rest_.”

 _“Thank you Grand Dai,”_ another said and they showed the men in white into the fortress and the garden. Most of the women were not out, but a few were, to assist if required. But a light meal had been prepared since it was a time between lunch and dinner. Their guard left them when they entered the garden, standing by the door, two inside, one out, but Kamal kept pace. He’d been a bit nicer clothes instead of plain grays. Malik had had a few pairs made when he heard the Greeks were coming, not even their scribe could look shabby and while they were very similar to the cut of a normal novice’s clothes the tails were cut like their black robes and an intricate embroidery had been added to the black lined hems, the fabric was also a finer quality.

Their guests were offered chairs, which they declined, for even though they were not above sitting in chairs themselves it was more formal for Altair and Malik. Especially out here. So instead they sat on a lavish rug occupied formally only by pillows. “Kamal, tea,” Malik said and Kamal bowed properly and poured seven cups of tea, also adding sugar to Altair’s, and cream to Malik’s, though did not touch the Greeks, he didn’t assume to know how they drank their tea. When he’d finished he bowed again and sat down a few feet away.

 _“You are most hospitable_ ,” one of them said.

 _“You’ve come a long way, and we are glad to have you_ ,” Malik said. “ _Though I’m not quite sure_ who _we have here_ ,” and he took a sip of his tea to give his hands something to do. Altair had his back against the wall, leaning against it and a set of pillows, his face blank but serious.

 _“I am Master Ciro_ ,” said the eldest one, probably in his fifties, and had a pure white beard, his eyes watery under his hood. _“This is Master Laius,_ ” younger, but beard still shot with silver, his nose had been broken and set badly when he was young, _“Master Otis_ ,” the same age as Laius, though less silver, and had laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, _“Master Colin_ ,” Slightly younger then Laius and Otis, in his thirties instead of his forties, his nose was hooked and his eyes were black, he did not have a beard and had a large scar on his cheek. _“And my son, Jase,”_ Ciro finished, pointing to the youngest man who looked about Malik’s age, his hair was nearly blonde and he wore no facial hair, and his lips pressed into a small, helpless, smile.

“ _Your son is not yet a Master?_ ” Malik asked, curious.

 _“He will be,_ ” Ciro said simply, “P _erhaps our own Mentor would make him such,_ ” he baited.

“ _Such a title is earned_ ,” Altair said, and now Malik heard that Altair’s Latin was even better then Ciro’s, and as he was the oldest probably also the best, and even Ciro had an accent. Altair had none. “ _It is only for men who are worthy,_ ” and Jase looked right at Altair, Altair stared back from under his black hood and the other man looked away, seeming embarrassed by his father’s boldness to insinuate such a thing would even happen. Malik did not blame him; he would have too. Then Altair’s lips quirked just slightly, his smile _almost_ nice, “ _We’ll have to see how your son stands up Ciro, I am sure he’ll give my men a thrashing, as I hear that all Greeks are experts at sword play._ ”

Ciro seemed flattered, Jase looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die and Malik realized then that Jase had not _wanted_ to come, his father had brought him. Clearly Ciro wanted to make a point with his son, he thought Jase was a good Assassin, and he’d been brought to prove that Greeks were better. No wonder Jase looked so privately humiliated when Ciro said, “ _Of course Master, it would be a pleasure._ ” The look on Altair’s face was amused, the smile perfectly pleasant, but Malik saw the steel edge to it.

Oh boy.


	19. Arum Lily

The noise from the common room was louder then normal as Malik approached it, not entirely pleased by the situation, but regardless it had to be dealt with. Altair kept pace with him calmly. The Greeks had since taken a rest, as it was later and dinner had come and gone now, though the fortress still held its breath, like it was waiting for something. Then they came to the open common room and the gathering of gray robed novices. Malik spotted the new boys immediately, as they had yet been given their grays and still wore the shapeless white initiate gowns that most of them could only wear thanks to a belt around their waists so they didn’t drag on the floor. 

They didn’t notice the two of them right away, but then the prefect, one of the older boys who’d been put in charge of the entire hall, noticed them and grew very still. His friends quickly noticed and looked at what he was looking at. In this way it took about a minute for the entire common room to grow quiet, their eyes trained on the men in black.

“Who’s the prefect here?” Malik asked, calmly.

“I am… sir,” he added quickly, sort of stumbling over himself. The boy in question was barely a boy anymore more in his very late teens, or twenty perhaps, and vaguely familiar to Malik. He had a _huge_ scar on his face, probably from a sword. It ran from his left eyebrow, across his nose, across his cheek, touching the side of his mouth, and ended on the other side of his chin. He also stood up quickly and Malik raked his eyes over him quickly, assessing him. He was clearly a journeyman, as he was too old to be otherwise, though often by now boys were on their way to their whites, or in them. A journeyman, and a prefect at twenty meant he’d be around for a while as usually prefects were younger, seventeen or so, so they’d be one for a year or two before leaving their halls and gaining their whites, losing their fingers.

“And you are?” Malik saw it in his eyes as he actually forgot his own name.

Altair saw it too and chuckled, “We aren’t here to punish you,” he said calmly and properly walked into the room and every eye followed him. He walked to one of the low couches and nudged two novices over before falling gracefully into it like he did it every day. Malik refrained from grinning as the novices stared at Altair in total awe. “Now, your name,” he said, tipping his head back to look at the prefect from under his hood.

“Rakkim al-Malik, Master.”

Altair looked at Rakkim, and then his hooded face turned to Malik, “You didn’t tell me you had a son, Grand Dai,” he said in absolute seriousness.

Malik actually laughed, and the tension further eased, “I think I’ll just leave you here, as you’re acting like a novice again, Altair,” he said and sat across from him on the table in front of the sofa, facing Rakkim as well who was standing behind it.

“A novice and a Grandmaster, what will our guests think?” Altair drawled carelessly.

Malik turned his focus from Altair back to Rakkim, “Did all the new novices get sent here?” he asked the scarred boy.

“Yes,” he nodded, “Rauf thought it would be best, as this hall has the most open rooms, and it was such short notice and-

Malik held up a hand, silencing him, “All twelve?”

“Yes, sir,” at least he seemed to understand that Malik wanted short answers. It had been a long day of playing host and he wasn’t interested in the long answer.

“How many spaces do you have left?”

Rakkim looked at one of his friends who showed him a board. He didn’t chastise Rakkim for not knowing off the top of his head, prefects were chosen for a reason, for their age, as well as their management skills and their ability to not totally cave under pressure. They had helpers and many prefects went on to become rafiqs when they got older if they wanted it or even Dais. “We have three beds left with the younger boys,” he said, “and six for the older ones.”

Malik nodded, “That’s good,” he looked around at the new boys in their shapeless white clothes, “Why are they not in grey?” he asked.

“Short notice, sir. We haven’t been able to leave the novice wing since they arrived and the instructor for our hall has been… unhelpful.”

“Who is he?” 

Rakkim hesitated, “Tell the Grand Dai his name,” Altair said.

“Adiv Haar, sir.”

“I do not know our brother Adiv,” Malik said thoughtfully. “You told him what you needed and he did what?”

“He said it could wait till the morrow, and Rauf and Master Faraz left shortly after they brought the boys here. We know our brothers from Greece were arriving today, that was why we were confined to the novice wing but—

“But?” Malik prompted.

Rakkim looked them both and then his eyes flitted about the room a moment and Malik saw them rest on a few boys. Snitches. If Rakkim said anything bad they would tell Adiv and Rakkim would probably be punished.

“What are you all even doing up?” Altair asked suddenly. “When I was a novice we were never allowed to be up this late,” and the older boys understood instantly and stood, and pushed the younger boys to their rooms. In five minutes the common room was empty save for them, Rakkim, and two of his friends who were also probably his helpers. “I’d have those names as well,” Altair said and Malik knew Rakkim knew what Altair meant, especially because he flushed in horror.

“Later,” Malik waved his hand at Altair, “There is a problem. What?” he asked Rakkim.

“We have beds,” Rakkim admitted, “but that is all. The rooms are totally unprepared. We were going to start preparing this week and as it is we’re ahead of schedule, the other halls won’t prepare for the Threshing until three days before when lessons are suspended. We have no blankets, no pillows, no clothes for our new boys, and no basic care items or bed chests. We _only_ have beds.”

Malik frowned deeply, “Adiv knew this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he didn’t get you pillow or blankets at least?”

“No, sir.”

Malik sighed and rubbed his brow, “Fabulous. What are you doing in the mean time?”

“Divided what we have as we can. Some of the journeymen rooms have spare blankets and I know some of them sleep with more pillows then we’re allowed. But we weren’t _ready_ for twelve boys showing up. Some of them we doubled up into beds because we didn’t have the blankets to go around and it gets cold down here at night, even though it isn’t autumn,” Rakkim said. Malik looked from Rakkim to Altair, he was facing Malik and he could only see the other man’s mouth. It was cast in a hard slant. He was not pleased. Malik didn’t blame him.

“Do you know why Adiv said this could wait till morning?”

“They aren’t our brothers yet, we take care of our own.”

“Adiv will not be an instructor much longer it seems,” Altair suddenly said, startling all of them.

“I… don’t wish to get him into trouble, really-

“He’s proving to be negligent,” Malik said, “you boys are our future, we cannot see it squandered because your hall monitor wanted to try and see our Greco brothers.”

“So we’ll get a new one?” one of Rakkim’s friends asked.

“Yes,” Altair said, still not looking at them.

Malik saw the relief in their eyes, all of their eyes. “What else aren’t you telling us?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Do not lie to me boy,” Malik said, “the Grandmaster does it much better then you and I know when _he_ is lying.” Rakkim swallowed. “What is Avid doing down here?”

Rakkim’s tongue appeared between his teeth before he said, “Two years ago, you culled some of the boys from the novice wing. Do you remember one name Abdul Wahid?” Malik visibly stiffened, but Altair gave nothing away except the air seemed to get a few degrees cooler. “He was Avid’s favorite in this hall,” Rakkim continued slowly. “Of the younger boys at least. His favorite in the journeymen hall is with Allah now after he got caught in Acre. I don’t know if this is true, but I believe he encouraged Abdul Wahid to be a bully, in a sense. Avid doesn’t like weakness and…

“He beats us,” one of his friends finished for him, “The little ones especially.”

Malik rubbed his face, “Today is just not my day,” he groaned softly, it was just one thing after another.

“We honestly try to step in, try to stop him. Usually he does back down when we show up, because we out number him. I think he’s just afraid of children,” Rakkim said.

“Does he do anything _else_ with the boys?” Malik asked.

Rakkim looked horrified, “No!” he cried. “Abdul Wahid was a pervert and sick, but he was the only one who would do something like that. The little ones know they can tell me anything, they would have told me if Avid was… was molesting them,” he had to spit it out, like he physically couldn’t say it, admit that someone would even think of doing that. 

“Good,” Malik said. “Because child molesters are just as bad as rapists in our eyes,” he looked at Altair who was sitting very still, not stiff, just still, his mouth like a knife, hard and sharp and deadly, though his hands were strangely relaxed at his sides. “We’ll send Kamal down here, if he’s with you you can leave the hall. Get your supplies: blankets, pillows, clothes, whatever you need. And get it _tonight_.”

“Yes, sir,” Rakkim nodded uneasily.

“Someone will be replacing Avid as your hall monitor,” he added. “Tomorrow.” Then with a groan that came from it being a long day he stood up, “That’s all I think,” he looked at Altair, “unless you have anything to say?”

Altair’s shadowed face looked up at him, then back at Rakkim a moment, then back to Malik, “No,” he said.

“Good, then lets go,” and Altair stood as gracefully as he’d sat.

“Master?” another of Rakkim’s friends asked.

“Yes?” Malik asked.

“You said you wanted the names of those boys,” he was looking at Altair.

“Lut,” Rakkim hissed to his friend, obvious to shut up.

“I did,” Altair said, turning to him.

“Y-you should know something too.”

“What?” Altair asked in a nice tone.

“A man came to the hall a few weeks ago, with Avid, and he talked with them.”

“Who?”

“One of our brothers, he wasn’t an instructor though. I’d never seen him before.”

“What did he look like?”

“He wasn’t very tall, average, and had a beard, black hair, black eyes. I heard Avid say his name once, and then he hit Avid for saying it saying secrecy was too important to go around being respectful,” and Malik felt a chill pass over him.

“What was the man’s name, son?” Altair asked.

“Abbas, Avid called him Abbas.” Malik’s eyes slid closed and he cursed silently up and down as a soft sigh left his lips.

“Did he now? And what was Abbas doing down here?” Altair asked putting hands behind his back.

“I don’t know. Avid brought him to the common room, got the boys who look up to him, and then they left. They came back a few minutes later, but it wasn’t normal.”

“Thank you Lut,” Altair said, “Now, what were those boys names?” and Malik wondered if Lut knew he was damning those boys when he recited those names. He tried not to think about what the consequences of this would be, it would be better for his conscious if he didn’t.

—

There was a knock during breakfast, though it didn’t come from the door, but their bedroom door. Kamal looked at the both of them but got the door, Haytham stood in it.

“We have a front door you know,” Malik informed him dryly as he sipped his tea.

“Couldn’t come by the front,” Haytham shook his head.

Malik was about to say something but Altair cut him off, “Avid, who is he?” he asked Haytham.

Haytham honestly seemed surprised, “You know Avid?”

“We know _of_ him,” Malik said. “He’s resigning his position as hall monitor today after breakfast.”

That surprised Haytham even more. “What happened?”

“Negligence, excessive beating,” Malik said. “Now Avid; who is he?”

“Someone trying to gain favor with Abbas,” Haytham said. “He isn’t in Abbas’ circle, but he’s trying to be.”

“Have you found anything else about our theory of what Abbas is doing?” Malik continued.

Haytham became reserved instantly, “Yes. It’s as we feared unfortunately,” and Malik swore. “The Threshing starts in just a few days. I’m friends with Abbas, as well as one of his right hand men, I got him to tell me what he’s doing, I said I wanted to be a part, though I don’t look the role so can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has rafiqs from three districts returning from their districts, to ours. They’re going to go to villages and  each take one boy, saying it’s for the Order. I’ve yet to know what he’s going to do with them but Abbas’ has switched to a long game in the past two years. He’s young yet, he’ll have a chance to be Mentor.”

“And these boys?”

“I’m not sure, he’ll train them somewhere else, that or manipulate them into thinking you two are evil and let them train here,” Haytham said with a frown. “Either way it’s bad and we’ll have a rotten core.”

Malik sighed, “Who is his second in command in terms of brains?” Malik asked.

There was a long, strange, silence, “I am,” Haytham said.

“What?” Altair said. “You’ve told us you’re only in his inner circle.”

Haytham huffed, “I can’t tell you two everything. I’d never leave here if I did so, so I just give you the simplified facts. I am in his inner circle, I’m also his friend and one of his seconds.”

There was another silence, “And where do you stand Haytham?” Malik asked slowly.

“Do not think so little of me,” he snapped, “I joined you because Azrael was corrupt, he ran us _into the ground_. Abbas would make an awful Mentor and would do much the same as Azrael. You two have given me a place, and unlike Abbas don’t think I’m weak for what I do,” he meant the poison, the shady tactics. “And I have an apprentice, because of you. Why would I betray that trust when I know Altair could kill me before I knew it was coming?”

Malik smiled slightly, “That’s good to know Haytham. Continue.”

Haytham cleared his throat, “As I was saying. I’m his second command as far as brains go, but I don’t have nearly the authority he does. He comes to me when he needs help to work out a plan though is amazingly good at not telling me half the things about the plan. Swami is his hammer, but I’m crafty.”

“Yes you are,” Malik said, enjoying this now and leaning back in his chair comfortably, hand in his lap.

“Which districts are the rafiqs coming from?” Altair asked.

“Jerusalem, Daraa, and Qamishli,” he recited. “They all voted against you for Mentorship and of the two remaining alive the Dais were friends with Jawad. What’s happening in Jerusalem by the way? The Order still wants to know who the new Dai is.”

“It’s yet to be decided. We’re going to start something new in Jerusalem and have yet to find a proper candidate for the job,” was all Malik said. 

“Abbas wouldn’t be interested would he?” Altair asked.

Haytham snorted, “No, nothing of the sort. He knows Jerusalem is a dumping ground, and so do his followers.”

“How big is his force?”

“I couldn’t give you a number, as they’re malleable, like water. I’d say fifty to seventy men at any one time,” Malik frowned deeply, while not even a fraction of their own force even fifty men in the right situation could be devastating.

“And you’re his brains?”

“Yes sir.”

“What would happen if the head of this hydra were to be cut off?” Malik asked.

“Three heads would erupt. Me, Swami, and a man named Marcus. Marcus is rising into Abbas’ favor quickly. He’s a vicious snake also and not only hates me, but if something happened to Abbas I don’t see any alternative but Marcus wresting control of his men from me and Swami. Swami wouldn’t be hard, he’s a simpleton, he’d probably follow me though since I’ve known him longer. Marcus would find a way to make us… disappear though. Some way.”

“What does Marcus want?”

“He’s an atheist, and a bit of an anarchist. He thinks the Order has too many rules and too much regulation and not enough freedom. He says the Creed allows them to do as they please and they shouldn’t have to be constrained by the Dais or the tenants and if a man should die he should die.”

“Huh, sounds like an idiot I know,” Malik said looking at Altair who just scowled at him.

“If Abbas takes the Mentorship he’ll erase some of the constraints we face in the fields. He says that there is no such thing as an innocent,” and Altair actually growled. “It won’t be good.”

There was another knock, this time from the front door, “What?” Malik barked.

“Malik, it is Ciro, he wishes to speak with you.”

“Kamal, tell him we don’t take visitors until after breakfast,” Malik said nicely and Kamal went to the door, opening it just a bit and when it tried to get shoved open a bit more Kamal slapped it still. Like a good novice Kamal just smiled and apologized and said that they would be glad to meet with Ciro after breakfast.

Malik turned back to Haytham as Kamal dealt with the old man, “We need to know what his full plans for the Threshing are,” he said softly.

“I’m trying,” Haytham promised, also speaking softly so Ciro wouldn’t overhear.

“Find out what Abbas is doing with Avid as well, as there are novices _in our halls_ who may be answering to him as well,” Haytham nodded. “Speaking of novices, how is yours?”

“A pain in the ass, as usual,” and Malik chuckled. “Coming along.”

“And the issue?”

Haytham’s face became stony, “Unresolved.”

“What issue?” Altair asked.

“We believe someone is scaring Raafe,” Malik said. “Do you know anything yet?”

“Just that he’s lying to me. He tells me it’s nothing. I’ll get it out of him sooner or later though.”

“Good.”

“Masters,” Kamal called from the door.

“Yes?” Malik turned to him.

“Master Ciro is being quite insistent.”

“What does he want?”

“It’s about the quality of their sleeping quarters.”

Malik sighed, “Altair, please, send him away,” he said softly, Altair grinned and stood, going to the door.

“Is that all Master?” Haytham asked.

“For now, yes. Thank you for coming so quickly even though we called you last night.”

“Of course,” he bowed a little. “Have a good day Master,” and then he slipped back to their bedroom and through the door and was gone.

 _“I apologize profusely for the misunderstanding Ciro,”_ Altair was saying. _“I’ll be sure that our servants properly make the beds tonight. I’ll also inform the cooks of your dietary needs. Though I don’t see how this could not have waited until after breakfast, the Grand Dai and I have much to do even before then and I would have thought an esteemed man such as yourself would understand our need for morning privacy to decide on the day’s important bills.”_ Malik would literally never get tired of hearing Altair speak Latin, not so flawlessly at any rate, and he’d heard it quite a bit yesterday down in the garden. He couldn’t hear what Ciro said in reply only Altair’s words, _“Yes, of course. It has been a stressful journey for you I’m sure, perhaps you should rest more, for though I hate to say it Ciro, you are getting on in your years and could do with more rest then the rest of us_. _”_ Ciro said more, _“We will talk more after breakfast. Yes. Thank you for your understanding Ciro_ ,” and then Altair closed the door.

“So?”

“That man is going to get on my nerves, I just know it,” Altair growled and returned to the table, grabbed a bowl of grapes and went to slump in the pillows under the window. “He should watch it,” he grumbled as he cats came to mill around him, Sawsan climbing into his lap for attention, which he gave her.

“You handled it well,” Altair just grunted, “you know he brought his son to flaunt him.”

“I will crush that man,” he growled as his hands gently stroked Sawsan’s head.

“Yes, you will,” and Altair’s head shot up so fast he probably gave himself whip lash.

“Really?”

He knew why Altair was surprised, usually Malik crushed his hopes when it came to killing or beating people. “Yes,” Malik said. “You’re going to beat him spectacularly, and then become his friend.”

Altair blinked at him, “What?”

Malik grinned, “Become Jase’s friend. I’m going to set up a small competition, since obviously Ciro wants to show that his son is a good fighter even without his master status we’re going to let him. Let Jase fight and win, rise him up, and then, beat him. And you will, because you don’t lose, do you Altair?”

“No,” he agreed.

“Except to Rauf but he always has been that exception hasn’t he?”

“Rauf is on my level is why. This Jase probably isn’t. How will you ensure he fights me though?”

“None of our brothers can easily beat you, save Rauf and maybe one or two others who aren’t here. Getting to the top will be easy for you. For Jase… our brothers may have to throw a match or two.”

Altair stared at him, “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Malik,” he said. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

Malik smirked, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”


	20. Almost Black Lily

There was a warm weight on his chest, pressing down at small points of pressure like fingertips. Only it was heavier. Malik cracked his eyes open. Kadar was staring at him, standing on his chest, tail raised. Next to him Altair was pressed flush against him. “What do you want?” he grumbled at Kadar. The cat meowed deeply. Kadar was big, and heavy, not fat, just _big,_ the biggest of the kittens (though he couldn’t call them kittens anymore).

He pushed Kadar off him and he landed on Altair who started awake. Malik whined a little when Altair tensed and the arm around his stomach squeezed painfully. The worst way to wake one of them up was to surprise them. But it passed quickly and Altair eased. “It’s too early,” he said with a yawn and buried his face practically into Malik’s left armpit. Altair did not even notice that he lacked an arm anymore, but didn’t act like he hadn’t either, he just treated Malik as though it was normal. Which really was all Malik wanted and why he didn’t wear night shirts anymore. Because Altair made him normal.

“Blame your baby,” Malik said back and was trying to get back to sleep.

They both groaned when the cats thought it was a good idea to hop onto the bed and lay all over them. They weren’t nearly as light as they thought they were though and when there were three all trying to take up the same residence on your chest it was pretty uncomfortable.

Malik sat up, disrupting cats. “I swear to god Altair they aren’t sleeping in this bed anymore,” and he tossed them off the side, all of them. Except Sawsan because she and Altair were giving him a reproachful look. He nearly stuck his tongue out at them both.

“They can sleep here. It’s my room,” Altair said.

“ _Our_ room,” Malik corrected him. “Unless you’d rather me go sleep in my own, I assure you, my bed is just as comfortable,” if empty, and Altair scowled at him. “They can sleep in the front room.”

“Sawsan stays,” Altair said.

“Fine, she’s clever enough to not wake us up,” and now he _was_ awake and not happy about it. The sun had just risen, and this was an hour or two before they usually woke up. The younger cats milled around the bed, looking at him, clearly knowing Malik was upset and restless because of it. He ignored them and got dressed moodily.

“Don’t be angry Malik,” Altair said, “They’re just animals,” he reminded him.

Malik sighed, “Front room, from now on,” and even Altair pouting at him did nothing because he was irritated. Once he was dressed he tugged his hood up. He only did that when he didn’t want to deal with people or in the mood for stupidity or questions and the entire Order knew it after he’d nearly demoted an Assassin for getting on his last nerves. Though to be fair they had asked for it. When he opened the door the kittens shot out, and most of them hopped out the big window where they normally ate, only Adha stayed, sitting on the sill primly.

He opened the front door, startling Christopher, the third guard on watch Ehan and Jari had found. Usually he got third watch or the more undesirable ones and also helped alleviate the strain from Jari and Ehan. He started when Malik pushed the door open and looked at Malik wide eyed, his hood slightly askew. “Get Kamal up,” he ordered, “we’re starting the day early.”

“Sir,” he said, seeing Malik was not in a good mood and Malik closed the door, ignoring the confused look on Christopher’s face. It occurred to him a moment later that Christopher didn’t know Malik usually was in Altair’s room. He didn’t dwell on it.

He sat moodily in the chair at the usually unused desk that was almost exclusively used for mornings. But there was nothing to do and even Kamal would need some time to get their breakfast so he got up and went to Altair’s bookshelf and found one that didn’t look incredibly boring or a ledger of some kind. There was no title and it looked pretty old, he’d never seen it before. Much of the stuff in this room was from Azrael, mainly to make it look scholarly, as otherwise Altair would have had all the books and shelves and just about everything removed, or Malik thought at least. Altair had ordered nearly everything to remain though, surprisingly, and Malik was mostly sure it was in memory of the old man who’d been like a father to him, some weird comfort and penance for killing him. 

He opened the book, there was date, eleven fifty-one on the front page with a circle around it. The ink was slightly faded and the pages a bit yellow and dry with age. He flipped to a random page, it was filled with short passages of very neat Arabic scrawl.

‘I don’t know what to do. I could very well be killed for this.’

And then the season, but no day or month. There was an equally short passage under it, dated the same way.

‘I knew this would be my undoing. Damnit it all to hell. No one must know of this. Least of all the Master. He does not take well to insubordination. The old bastard.’

Malik was missing something. He turned back a page.

‘Killed a man in Tyre. He begged before I slit his throat. I did not even need to. He angered me. I remind myself the first tenet, it does little. He deserved to die.’

‘Many Templars in this city. I can see them like they’re shouting it from the rooftops. The corruption sickens me.’

‘Met a man, I liked him. He gave me some bread and tea after I fell into his garden by accident. He made me help him weed his garden for breaking his big flower pot when I fell. It was good.’

‘Missed going to Aleppo again. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad. Maybe both?’

‘Sometimes I wish something would eat the sun. It’s too hot today for this sort of work.’

‘Killed another man I didn’t need to. He was about to rape a Jewish girl. The sight of his blood was a pleasure. I was invited for dinner; declined.’

‘Aleppo.’

‘I was strong.’

‘Novices are cute. The little ones especially. They make me wish our Order did not have rules about siring children.’

That stopped Malik. They did? Since when? He did not know of a single one that forbad or in some way hindered one of them from finding a woman and having children. But then this was forty years ago, much had changed. He continued reading, he’d since moved to the pillows under the window, Adha in his lap smugly.

‘I saw Jawad today. He was angry with me. He should be. I told him and Qais it wasn’t my fault. Neither of them believe me. Like it was my fault Stephan was killed. I miss him too. The bastards.’

‘Thank god for Zaki. I might have actually killed Jawad today.’

‘I think I sin too much. What happens to sinners when they do not believe in consequences for their actions? One can only repeat ‘Allah is a lie’ before even they start to doubt themselves amid so many believers. I miss Stephan and his Christian ways all the more.’

‘I… was very weak. This is going to destroy me.’

‘I am dead. She is pregnant. It is mine. She looked too pleased for me to be angry. This will not end well.’

And then he was back at the original entries he’d read.

Malik looked up when the bedroom door opened, Altair came out, fully dressed save for his hood, his short hair was damp from a wash. “Still angry?” Altair asked him.

“Have you seen this before?” Malik asked, holding out the notebook.

Altair did not take it, “It’s one of Azrael’s journals,” he said without feeling. Malik’s eyes widened and he looked at it again with new meaning. Forty years ago Azrael had been about their age, perhaps a bit older.

“One of?”

“There are several,” he shrugged, “The ones I could find. What year is that?”

“Eleven fifty-one,” Malik said.

“Ah. I like that one.”

“You’ve read it?”

“I’ve read all of them.”

“You didn’t tell me this,” Malik sort of accused.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Altair frowned slightly, “I read them when I miss him,” and that hit Malik like a brick. Altair _still_ missed his surrogate father, even after two years. “You get to the good bit yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“The woman in Aleppo.”

“Oh,” Malik looked down at the notebook where he still held his place. “The one who had his child,” he said.

“Such,” Altair nodded. “Read the rest, it’s interesting,” and then there was a brief knock and Kamal came in with their breakfast. Malik closed the journal and went to the table to eat, he’d read it when he had time; something he had precious little of to be honest.

—

Altair was tapping the top of the desk, thinking. Malik was going to murder him if he didn’t stop soon as it was annoying him. For now Malik was just glaring at him hoping he’d either get the point or catch on fire, and he wasn’t sure which one he wanted more. Contracts were in neat stacks on the desk and Malik was going through each one, Altair was keeping notes on… something. It was in his head and every now and then he’d write something on piece of paper in front of him, though at this angle Malik couldn’t read it, though not just because of the angle but also because Altair couldn’t write. Altair motioned to Kamal and the boy neared, Altair said something softly, Kamal nodded and then left.

“Would you _stop_ ,” Malik suddenly growled, unable to handle the tapping.

Altair’s hand stilled, “Sorry,” he said, “I was thinking.”

“I know. But it’s annoying,” there was a short silence, “What were you thinking?”

“About the Threshing.”

“It’s in three days,” Malik said.

“I know,” Altair said thoughtfully. “I was thinking about Abbas is doing, and how to work around it, make it so he can’t do what he’s about to do.”

“Oh really?” Malik finally put down his pen to look at Altair.

“Yes,” he said in a bit of a slow tone. “Scholars, and sometimes instructors, are sent out to get our boys, because we always need all hands,” Malik nodded. “That has worked, but it has also crippled us.”

“How so?”

“Kamal dug up some records. Novice deaths for the past,” he thought a moment, “fifty years.”

“Fifty?” Malik’s eyes widened, “You read fifty years worth of material?”

Altair gave him a look, “If I did I’d still be doing it now. I set Kamal to have some of our clerks do it. They compiled a shortened ledger, easier to read,” he sighed a little. “In the past fifty years the number of deaths before the age of eighteen have risen. Boys not even sent out onto the field, dying, because they’re weak,” he looked thoughtful. “And too stupid to be given desk work.

“In the last ten years especially it’s risen considerably, while the number of non warriors have decreased by a similar fraction,” Altair rubbed his stubble covered chin, he needed to shave. “Novices are being killed in training because those we send out during the Threshing aren’t taking the right children. I also had them tell me deaths by districts in Syria since very few if any were from other countries. Most of the deaths were from Masyaf’s district,” he looked at Malik. “The system is broken. Those not here choose good boys for training, but more than half the boys from the surrounding towns around the mountain die before even becoming journeymen.”

“All right, so what were you thinking?”

“We need a new standard, this one is not cutting it. We lose men every year just in the training ring, and we don’t have the number of men to keep Masyaf running at the efficiency it needs to. Munahid is always coming to me for this or that because there literally isn’t anyone he can go to for a problem. As it is we have three accountants. Just three, and one lawyer,” he sighed. “Two blacksmith, overworked, five doctors, two of them under-skilled and only one in training. Perhaps a half a dozen clerks to help relieve stress from us and Munahid. The dungeon workers are bored, scary stories for the novices, and even then they’re understaffed. 

“The town guard is swollen with men not good enough to be sent on missions. We have no real skilled archers and there don’t seem to be any boys who are currently journeymen who will gain Master status, the two classes below them are just as dismal.” Altair rubbed his face, suddenly seeming very tired. “Azrael did many thing, but I don’t think he was actually a very good Mentor. He had his own agenda and we’re just starting to see it crippling us.”

“So what are we going to do than?” Malik asked, sitting back in his chair, listening. Altair had done all this without telling him. He wasn’t angry though, as it was good. Altair was acting autonomously without him having to hold his hand at all times like when they’d first started. He was also working on other problems, ones the Order had but seemingly one Mentor couldn’t get to on his own. Malik played short term games and dealt with mostly day to day things that kept the order moving. Altair was worried about the long game and making sure they didn’t fall apart. He was impressed.

“Make a new standard,” Altair said. “We have men in the towns, watching the people. Abbas no doubt has men doing the same, or even the rafiqs. But, he’s not going to be able to do anything?”

“Why not?”

“I just told Kamal to get a clerk to write messages to all the towns we’re Threshing. All of them, not just the ones this year. Until further notice only boys I select personally will be accepted.”

Malik stared at him. “You? You’re going to the towns?”

“Yes.”

“Altair we have-

“The Greeks can wait. They came during _our_ Threshing, they will understand. And if they don’t-“ he didn’t finish the threat, but than he didn’t actually need to. “They’re guests, and should be reminded of this,” he harumphed.

“Very well,” Malik said slowly.

“You’re coming too,” he added.

“What! Altair you ca-

“You’re coming with me,” and the tone of Altair’s voice was final. Malik scowled at him. But Altair _was_ Grandmaster and though Malik held the rank of Grand Dai even Dais deferred to the Grandmaster, no matter what, and Malik just a middle rank between Dai and Grandmaster anyway. “The Order will survive without you Malik.”

“We have commissions,” he said.

“They can wait. They waited after Azrael died,” Altair said. “Zaki and Abyan can handle the rest in our stead.”

Malik sighed, “Fine,” he rubbed his head tiredly. It wasn’t lunch yet and he was starting to get a headache. Altair usually did that to him though.

Altair smiled at him, “Good,” he said. “This is important Malik.”

“I know,” he huffed. “I do not like leaving Masyaf alone though with Abbas around.”

“Nothing to worry over. I sent him on a fool’s errand to Acre.”

“…What? You didn’t tell me this.”

“I did it yesterday, after lunch. I made it sound like an honor to be sent to kill someone who I don’t think is actually still in Acre right now. He looked very pleased to have a mission.”

Malik groaned, “He’s going to hate you for this.”

“He already hates me. Abdul Batin will send him on a few false leads and he won’t return till the Threshing is over.”

Malik chuckled now, “I see. One more thing. Who will handle the new children coming in if both of us are gone?”

“Rauf,” he said as though it was obvious. “He handled the Arabians well, when the other tithes come in he’ll be able to handle it, especially since now all the wings are ready,” that had happened after the mix up with the early novices. The next day classes had been suspended and the wings prepared. Avid had been made an example of and the instructions very clear to other hall monitors and their prefects, when tithes came in they were _first_ priority, anything else they were doing could wait until later. They’d made sure to humiliate Avid not only so no one else would make such a mistake but also so Abbas wouldn’t want to soil his hands with him if this was a man he would trust his fake novices with.

“Very well,” Malik nodded. “I’ll tell Munahid to make preparations for our departure, and tell Zaki and Abyan of their new duties. What else?” he could sense Altair had more.

“Your little…project,” he said slowly, “How is it coming along?”

“From what I hear it is going good, once the Threshing is over I plan on testing it out.”

“Good,” Altair looked at him, “Do you think it will work?”

“He has told me good things,” Malik said.

“Very well,” he nodded, “So now all we have is-

A man ran up to their desk, wide eyed. “Masters,” he bowed breathlessly. 

The two traded looks, “Yes, brother?” Malik asked.

“One of our men just dropped dead.”

There was a long, stunned silence, “Excuse me?” Malik asked.

“Alexander was on guard in the northern tower. He just dropped dead.”

“How?”

“We don’t know. He is not wounded, there was no sign of foul play or a struggle. His partner up there said he was fine one moment and then the next he was on the ground, breathing heavily, and then not at all.”

“Show me,” Altair stood, he looked at Malik.

“I need to see this,” he agreed. He quickly stacked up the commissions and put them in the lock box. Then the man was leading them out of the fortress to the walls. Nothing had stopped elsewhere in the fortress and he saw some of their men in white practicing, as well as some boys in gray, for though classes had been canceled practice had not. Malik saw Jase’s strangely cut robe standing back, watching. 

Then they were ascending the stairs to the top of the battlements and headed for the north tower. Up here, and even at this distance he could see men gathered around the base, not many, but more than there should have been. “Make way,” their guide called, “the Masters are coming through,” and the group thinned out and pressed against the walls.

“All of you, back to your stations,” Malik said sharply. “And someone get me Saar, now,” and they scattered, knowing better than to test the Grand Dai now, especially so close to the Threshing. “Where is Saar?” Malik added to their guide as they climbed the tower, which admittedly wasn’t that tall as they were already high on the mountain and could see for miles in all directions.

“I think he’s meeting with Navid,” he said and they came to the top of the stair.

Alexander was laying on the ground, he looked like he was asleep, who Malik presumed to be his watch partner was kneeling next to him, fists on his thighs. There was no blood and the only way into the top of the tower was either an unclimbable wall outside, or through the stair they’d just climbed.

Altair went to the dead man, kneeling on his other side and started to inspect him. Malik looked around the top of the tower. There was a wooden cover but the view was unobstructed as it truly was the top of the tower, and not a room just below the top. He looked down the sides, but the walls and towers of Masyaf had been built specifically with the idea in mind that you shouldn’t be able to climb them. There were no ornaments or carvings on the protective walls save around the portcullis which bore their symbol. The walls were smooth except for some small irregularities in the stone work just from time passing. On one side of the tower he could see the fortress, to the other, down the mountain, he could see the village and the huge wooden gate that protected them inside this well in the land. 

He turned at the sound of footsteps and Saar came up the stairs looking grim and serious. “Apologies Masters,” he said, “I was in a meeting-”

Malik raised his hand, “We understand,” he said. “Tell me about Alexander,” Saar knew all his men, it was his job to.

“Well he’s a good guard,” he said, “though kept to himself mostly. Usually my men are thick as thieves, Alexander wasn’t one of them though. He was quiet and got on with another crowd,” he frowned. “He always did as was asked of him without question though and was plenty helpful, I can’t imagine why anyone would kill him. It seems so out of character.”

“These-“ Malik glanced at the other two, “You two, you may go,” he ordered and Alexander’s watch partner had to be pulled away by the man who’d brought them here. Altair was still inspecting the dead man, face surprisingly close to his skin, like he was looking for something tiny. Once they’d both left Altair started to take off Alexander’s shirt and harness. Malik turned back to Saar. “What was this other crowd?” he asked.

“Just some other brothers of ours. They shared meals together, shared hookah, things like that. Not with the rest of my men though, that is the only thing I thought was strange.”

“Do you know their names?”

“Sorry, sir, I don’t.”

Someone was coming up the tower, “I thought I said to leave-“ but it was a different man.

“Apologies Grand Dai,” they gave a quick bow, “I was told to deliver this to you,” and he held out a slip of paper. 

Malik took it and dismissed the man as he opened it.

‘It is done

-H’

Malik’s brows went up and then he looked at Alexander, then the note, “Altair,” he called, Altair looked up. “Stop that, we’re leaving.”

Altair looked at the note he held, “But I-

“Altair,” Malik’s voice turned sharp, “We’re leaving.”

Altair gave his impression of a scowl and a pout that was all scowl to anyone who couldn’t see the pout, “Fine,” he stood up and dusted off his knees.

“Redress your man and take him to the dungeons to be prepared for his burial,” Malik told Saar who nodded, though seemed confused.

“Sir,” he said, Malik nodded for him to continue as he waved to Altair to go without him, “what about who killed Alexander?”

“It will be taken care of, don’t worry,” Malik gave him a sort of smile and then followed after Altair down the tower and along the wall.

Altair was waiting for him at the bottom of the wall’s stair, “How did he do it,” it was statement, not a question.

“When did you know?” Malik asked, as he had no doubt that Altair knew it had been Haytham.

“As soon as I saw it,” they spoke in slightly hushed tones as they walked, to not be overheard. “None of our men are subtle, we’re taught not to be. _That_ was subtle. Haytham told me he uses needles to poison people sometimes, put it on the tips and stick people with them. I was looking for a puncture wound,” he shrugged.

“I believe this was the end consequence with Raafe,” Malik replied.

“Ah, you going to tell me about that now?”

“Kamal thought he was scared, perhaps someone was doing _something_ to him,” Altair physically bristled, “Haytham was looking into it if it was true. I think this is the end of that.”

Kamal was back when they returned, “Oh, there you are,” he seemed relieved.

“We had to deal with something,” Malik said gravely.

“Okay, well Altair the clerk wrote up a draft, he wanted to know if it was all right?”

“Is it?” Altair asked him.

“Uhm… well-

“Let me see,” Malik held out his hand for it, Kamal handed it over. The message was clear and concise without any two ways about it that if Altair was not in the town they were to surrender no children. “Looks fine, have them add that I will be attending with the Grandmaster.”

“Yes, Grand Dai,” he nodded and Malik handed it back.

“Oh, and Kamal.”

“Sir?”

“Find Haytham. Tell him to come here.” Kamal seemed confused but nodded. Malik grabbed his hood as he turned to go and made him look back at Malik, “Make sure he understands in no uncertain terms that I don’t care _what_ he’s doing. He’s to come here _now_ ,” and Kamal swallowed and nodded quickly again. Malik let him go and he darted off.

“Well this has been an exciting morning,” Altair said in faux cheerfulness.

“Oh yes,” Malik agreed as he got the commissions from the box to finish working. “I love exciting mornings,” and he sat down heavily next to Altair.

Altair smiled at him, “We’re fine,” and he reached over and squeezed Malik’s knee.

Malik let out a sigh, “I can only imagine what it was that made him do this.”

“If it was what we thought than he had a more peaceful death than I would have allowed,” Altair said with more than a bit of morbid mirth. He let go of Malik’s knee and simply pressed the sides of their legs together. Malik hadn’t been pleased about the Alexander, but this helped him focus until Haytham arrived.

He did so an hour later. He struck it up as more of Kamal trying to locate Haytham than Haytham actually dawdling as the scribe of the Masters couldn’t go around asking for Abbas’ second in command. It’d be suspicious. Be he did appear before their desk as Malik was finishing up the commissions.

“Masters,” he bowed.

“Come with me,” Malik said shortly and beckoned to him as he got up from his desk and walked to the side alcove where they were surrounded by shelves to shield both them and their conversation. Altair remained sitting. “What was that?” he asked once Haytham had settled into a shadow.

“Alexander?”

“Yes,” Malik growled.

Haytham grinned, “I’m actually rather proud, Raafe did it all on his own.”

Malik blinked, “He did?”

“Yes,” he was in no way not pleased.

“Did he tell you?”

“No. But that’s okay. I found out about Alexander last night. I was planning on killing him myself. Raafe just beat me to it.”

“What did he do?” Malik started a little when Altair slid into the protected area and joined Haytham in the shadows, his dark robes made him look like a shade.

“Blackmail. He found out that my true allegiance was to you two, and not Abbas. He said he’d keep quiet if Raafe did some things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Nothing like that,” Haytham shook his head quickly. “We’re poisoners. He wanted Raafe to make some people he didn’t like ill so he could get a promotion in the guard. Raafe did, Alexander got the promotion. Apparently he wanted Raafe to poison me next.”

“Ah. Well that would explain why he looked so scared.” 

Haytham nodded. “Obviously Raafe couldn’t kill me, he’s my novice, it was a stupid thing to ask. This morning Raafe poisoned Alexander’s meal, he told me what he’d done after he’d done it and just finished confessing the rest to me just now.”

“I see. I take it Alexander was one of Abbas’?”

“He was.”

“What will Abbas think?”

“That I killed him. He won’t know till he gets back from Acre though, and that’ll be at least two weeks. By then I’ll be able to convince everyone he’d deserved it and was harassing Raafe. Everyone on Abbas’ side knows not to mess with Raafe.”

“How’d you manage that?” Altair asked.

“They know I’ve taken him under my wing. They think he’s training to be something else, a clerk maybe, and that I’m training him in secret,” Malik and Altair chuckled at that. “I told them that if they mess with him they mess with me, and I will anyone who messes with me.”

“Good to know,” Malik said.

“No one will doubt Alexander brought this upon himself.”

“Good. Now that this is resolved, how is his training?”

“Progressing quickly. He’s learned most of the poison lore, though the chemistry of it is taking some getting used to, obviously as the poison this morning should have killed him at the breakfast table and not while he was on guard duty. He’s coming along with the physical aspects as well, though I don’t think he’ll ever actually be as good as a normal novice, he would have been better suited in books honestly, but he works hard, does his best. I’ve had to change his training to fit what he can do.”

“Like?” Altair asked, interested.

“No swords, he can use one, just very poorly. Short swords and double knife fighting. I’m having Rauf teach him how to use two blades at once, since I can’t. He’s good with a bow now, never misses. He’s still got stuff to learn, but perhaps another year or two and he’ll be ready, just like his brothers, and can start going on missions, though I think he’ll make a better spy than an Assassin.”

Malik smiled, “This is good to know. If everything goes well we’ll let you select who’s next,” and Haytham’s smile was _huge_. “Make sure Raafe knows how to teach this as well. When the time comes we’ll have some of our instructors come to you, learn the poison lore. They’ll handle that while you work on the rest.”

“How old are you Haytham?” Altair asked him suddenly.

“Twenty-two sir,” he said.

“Haven’t seen someone do so much so young since I gained my Master’s title,” and Haytham beamed in the praise. “This can only happen though, if Abbas is out of the way.”

“Sir,” he nodded. “Just tell me what I need to do,” he said, back to serious.

“Give us an edge. Where is Abbas weak? As it is his plans for the Threshing are about to explode in his face.”

“They are?”

“A clerk is writing letters to the towns that only Altair may claim boys for the Threshing.”

Haytham’s mouth popped open, “Oh wow.”

“Indeed.”

“That’ll _definitely_ put a damper on Abbas’ plan,” he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do about that edge, Master.”

“Good, that’s all than,” and Malik dismissed him, Haytham bowed and then left the protected area. Malik went to stand next to Altair. Altair leaned his head on Malik’s shoulder. “This is good,” Malik said.

“It is?”

“Yes. I feel that soon we’ll be rid of Abbas.”

“He is one head of a hydra.”

“Mmm,” Malik agreed, “but you can kill a hydra by piercing it’s heart. “Which we shall do.”

“How?”

“By letting Abbas see it all fall apart around him, including himself.” Altair did not ask what he meant.

“Do I get to kill him in the end?” he asked.

“If you want, you may,” Malik agreed.

“Good,” and Altair leaned over a big to press his lips gently against Malik’s neck. “I want his head on a pike,” he said softly, practically into Malik’s ear.

“And so you shall get it _habibi_ ,” Malik promised rather gently, enjoying the soft attention Altair was giving him. Altair grabbed the ring finger of his right hand gently, his left hand curling around it and Malik felt the missing gap of his left ring finger. “We still have work, Altair,” Malik reminded him.

“Work can wait a moment,” Altair said, head buried in Malik’s neck and shoulder. “It isn’t going anywhere,” and Malik chuckled softly, though couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the feeling of Altair’s warm mouth on his neck.

“Hello?” someone called and Malik recognized it instantly on accent along. Altair scowled into Malik’s skin.

“No,” he muttered like a petulant child.

“Hello? Grand Dai? Mentor?” Bo called.

“Let me go,” Malik said patiently.

“No.”

“Altair,” he said and gave him a look. Altair scowled unhappily but let go of Malik’s finger and slid off his shoulder. “Work,” he reminded Altair and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before slipping out of the shadows.

“Grand Dai?” Bo called again.

“Here I am,” and the Chinese man spun. “Sorry, the Grandmaster and I were having a private discussion,” he said.

“Ah, no matter at all,” Bo said. 

“What can I do for you Bo?” he asked.

“Uh well, I know I shouldn’t even be here right now but… can I come out of my room?” he asked, for a moment his narrow eyes widening pleadingly.

Malik chuckled. “I spoke with Ciro. He said some… interesting things I won’t repeat here, but yes I think it would be all right. I was going to tell you tonight as I wanted those old men to get used to the idea of someone like you being around.”

“Like me?”

“Chinese,” Malik elaborated. “They don’t like us Syrians very much, they like Asians even less sadly.”

Bo frowned, “These Greeks are very judgmental.”

“Indeed,” Malik agreed. “So you may move about as you have, though I suggest caution. Altair and I are going to be leaving for the Threshing in a few days, I don’t know if they’ll be coming with us at all, but we won’t be here to protect you if they get upset.”

“I will be on my best behavior.”

“Good. You can’t speak Latin can you?” Bo just looked confused, “thought so. You won’t even be able to understand them, don’t mind it,” he said.

“Okay,” then he looked over Malik’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean to disrupt your conversation Master, forgive me,” and Malik looked. Altair was leaning against the bookshelf with a frown. Not a very big one, but his displeasure was obvious. Malik rolled his eyes at Altair so Bo couldn’t see. “Excuse me,” and with a nod from Altair Bo left, his man sashes flying back in his haste.

“That was mean,” Malik told Altair, but the hooded man just slid back into the shelf hidden area. He stood in the opening, “No, work. C’mon,” he said to Altair who was hard to see in the shadowed alcove.

“Work can wait,” Altair said and Malik gave a startled half yelp when Altair suddenly grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him into the shadows.


	21. Rubrum Lily

It had been a long time since Malik had ridden a horse. Not an easy feat with one hand, but not impossible. He knew Altair was in better condition to do so as he took Kamal riding to keep him up to skill on horseback as well as just to get away from the fortress. When that happened Malik usually had one person follow him, from a great distance. Any closer and it would have made Altair angry. Malik didn't fear Altair getting hurt when he went riding, or meeting crusaders. More he feared that Altair would find something else to do or someone to save and not come back for a while and a Mentor out of Masyaf would just make people nervous and want to go find him. Just what Malik needed, Assassins scouring the countryside looking for their Mentor who could very well be in any city from Jerusalem to the Turkish border. What a nightmare that would be.

Altair's horse was a gift from one of their clients in Tyre after killing a rival for a rich lady's had. They'd been paid by then and Malik had moved on from thinking about past jobs they sent their men on. Then a trading caravan had come to Masyaf, and with it a man with one of the finest stallion's Malik had ever seen. The man said he worked for their previous client, who was a horse breeder, this was a horse from his best stud, for Al Mualim of the mountain, as additional thanks. The horse was named after his first son, which he got after agreeing to a contract with the Assassins. Malik had been surprised by this but Altair had been excited.

Assassins did not usually have their own horses, they all used the same horses in the stables. So this was Altair's first horse that was really his. His name was Mika'il and he was not a nice creature in the slightest, foul tempered, mean, and Malik got nearly bi monthly reports of some accident in the stables because of that damn horse. He barely let anyone near him, except Altair, of course. Though it had taken Altair several months to get the horse to heed his command. There was a rumor, just like so many rumors about Altair, that now they didn't just have a demon for a Mentor, but he had a demon steed as well. The fact that Mika'il was jet black and had strangely light eyes for a horse, didn't help at all.

Malik, thankfully, had a much easier to control horse for this journey. A spirited gelding who took a firm hand to control but unlike Mika'il, Samit could be brought into control by anyone. He was also shorter than other horses, which was better for Malik to get up one handed.

The party that was traveling with them was small, Altair wouldn't tolerate a large one, it would just slow them down. Kamal was with them, as were a few of of Navid's guards who'd come up from the villages, Navid himself would join them later, he was dealing with a bandit problem at the moment. Jari, Ehan, and Christopher were being left behind to both watch over the Mentor's things and feed the cats while Kamal was gone. Bo, Colin and Jase were also amid their number. Jase didn't seem happy about the entire adventure but Bo was clearly happy to get out of the fortress. The older men had wanted to come but Altair forbade it, they would just slow them down and Altair was not in the mood for that at all. So the Greeks were mostly staying behind.

Mika'il was a fidgety thing who even with Altair on his back would pace. Altair let him pace and he was as impatient as his own horse, dressed to ride, his hood down, eyes like a hawk watching everyone as they got ready. Malik didn't bother to tell Altair to calm down, the man would not, and Malik just waited on Samit's back patiently, reigns in his lap, leaning back a bit on his high backed saddle. They were really just waiting for Colin and Altair looked ready to leave without him, as the old man wasn't here yet. A novice was holding his horse for him though and kept looking towards the fortress as if expecting him to appear.

"I expected Greeks to be more punctual than this," Altair growled after tugging Mika'il a bit closer to Samit. He turned to Jase, " _Jase, where is Colin_?" he demanded in Latin.

The other man looked horribly embarrassed by what was happening, knowing it was one of his father's men who was causing this delay. " _I'm sorry Master, I don't know_ ," at least he seemed sincere about it.

Altair growled wordlessly. "Kamal," Malik said to the scribe softly.

"Yes?"

"The escorts were given my instructions last night, correct?"

"Yes, sir, they were," Kamal nodded.

"Then  _where_  is Colin?"

"I can go find him?" Kamal said looking ready to get off his horse.

"No," Malik waved that off, "You," he pointed at one of the other novices waiting, "Find Colin and drag him here if you must." They nodded and bolted.

They waited in silence for only five minutes before they heard the sounds of protesting and a moment later came Colin being shoved forward by the novice. _"Stop that!_ " Colin squawked, batting at the novice even as they shoved him to his horse. _"What is the meaning of this?_ " he demanded.

 _"Where have you been?"_  Altair demanded right back.

_"I've been-_

_"Not here. That's where you've been. You have kept us waiting, and thus have kept_ me _waiting. I am Al Mualim, I am the Order, are you so great that you may keep the entire Order waiting until_ you _are ready, Colin?"_  Altair was furious.

_"… No. I simply-_

_"When you ride with me you are here on_ my _time. Is that understood_ Master _Colin?"_  Altair still didn't let him spea _k. "I have novices who are more punctual than you and if I was in any worse I mood than I am now I'd have you beaten as one."_

_What? But-_

_"But what? You wish to act like a novice, than you shall be treated like one,"_  Altair moved closer to the Greek, up high on his black horse, his dark robes making him like a wraith, the sun creating a halo behind him. Malik laughed to himself. Altair might not have a head for politics but he knew how to control and intimidate very well. Azrael had not done this, used fear like this, but Altair was not Azrael. Altair's best weapon was fear, not knowledge like Azrael's had been. It seemed they both knew how to use similar tactics though. Drag the ones with big heads down and shove their face in the mud, reduce them to a novice in their eyes. It always seemed to work too. _"Get on your horse."_  Altair ordered, _"And you will have no lunch today."_

 _"I am your guest here,"_  Colin said.

 _"Brothers are not guests,"_  Altair said. _"Here we are equal and not even visitors from far away get special treatment,_  isn't that right Bo?" he didn't even look at the China man when he spoke.

"No," Bo said and knew he couldn't say much else as Colin wouldn't understand.

 _"You are a Master in your land. Here you are just another of my men, just as all masters are."_  He turned Mika'il away from Colin sharply and started to ride him away. Malik gently kicked Samit into motion and he heard Colin scramble onto his horse as Altair started down the mountain. Malik noticed Jase wasn't looking at his father's friend, or speaking to him.

Once they'd reached the gate of Masyaf Altair kicked Mika'il into a gallop, throwing up a cloud of dust. One of Navid's men followed behind at a gallop but when Malik did not move to follow none of the others did. Let Altair get ahead, he'd wait for them. He needed some time to master himself and feel the wind under his skin.

"Well, that was exciting," Bo said to Malik, only once Altair was far ahead.

"You didn't even know what he said," Malik rolled his eyes.

"No, but it was still exciting!" Bo said. "I've only known the Grandmaster as the strong silent type, I didn't know he had so much power or darkness. Rauf told me, but I didn't believe it."

"Rauf told you?" Malik asked.

"Yes. Usually after we practice we eat dinner together. He knows the Master better than most, and certainly better than myself-"

"Me," Malik said.

"Yes, better than me," Bo nodded. "I thought he was lying, since to me of the both you are much livelier more," Bo offered. "I said that wrong didn't I?" he continued.

"You're very good, but yes. Much more lively," Malik correctly gently, Bo already spoke rather slowly at times, though sometimes he could get up to normal speed. "And thank you, I suppose," Malik said thoughtfully.

"I also think of you as more of the one who punishes, not Altair," Bo said.

"Really? I'm not that bad am I?"

"Not at all," Bo said, "but everyone listens to you, you do more, I have never seen Altair… act like the Mentor," he admitted. "In my sight you are Mentor."

That had never occurred to Malik before. To him the line was obvious, Altair was Mentor, Malik was simply Grand Dai, and always below him, though it might only be by a step instead of a story like it was between Altair and the other Dais. He didn't know how to answer Bo, do he didn't. Bo realized that the conversation was over at least.

They'd made it a ways down the mountain and were about to pass the first watch tower when Jase came up along side him.  _"Grand Dai,"_  he said.

_"Yes?"_

_"Was the Grandmaster being serious?"_  he asked carefully and glanced back at Colin.

 _"About what?"_  Malik asked.

_"Would… would he have have Colin beaten like a novice?"_

_"Yes,"_  Malik didn't even hesitate. He didn't know if Altair really would have, but he could not undermined Altair's power here. Colin and Jase both had the believe that yes, Altair would have if he was angry enough.

Jase paled _. "But Colin is an old man. Surely not. I mean, he is too old for such treatment."_

_"No one is ever too old to be above the Grandmaster or the Order, or punishment."_

_"Surely beating is a bit harsh of a punishment."_

_"I don't know what sort of training you received Jase,"_  Malik looked straight at him, _"By the Syrians do not tolerate or train their men to be weak."_

_"O-of course not. I wasn't insinuating it could even be a chance. But… beat an old man?"_

Malik looked back at Colin, he was riding in front of the last guard, but seemed dejected and clearly not happy. Colin was in this late thirties, the scar on his cheek made him look older, but all his hair was still dark brown and he was not balding. _"Colin is not old, Jase,_ " Malik sad. _"Let me tell you a tale though, of why no one is above the Creed, or the Master's orders."_

 _"Okay,"_  Jase said apprehensively.

_"Once upon a time Altair was not the great man you see before you now. He was brutal, arrogant, stupid, and did not listen to anyone, except when it suited him. He went on a mission with some of our brothers, failed the mission, broke the Creed, lost a valuable treasure, and let the leader of the Templars escape. All this, because Altair did not listen or do as commanded. He could have saved lives that day and kept his honor. He did not though. Instead he was stripped of everything save himself, so he was a novice, and Azrael, the Grandmaster before Altair, appeared to kill him."_

_"Appeared to?"_

_"A poison that simulates death. Very dangerous, easy to mess up. Altair nearly died for real, but then he awoke, reborn. But the dead cannot simply live without payment. Nine lives were Altair's payment for his own. He had to kill nine high profile targets on his own. No one could help him. In this he was reminded of what we are, who we are, what we fight for, and why even if we think otherwise, no one is above the Creed. So when people think themselves above him, above the Order and the Creed, he knows what it is like, what it can do to someone and what one man can do to destroy our world because he thinks he is better than others."_

_"So when Altair was angry at Colin it was because he saw himself in Colin?"_  Jase asked.

 _"Yes,"_  Malik said. Or so he guessed, It could have been Altair was just in a mood and had had enough of the Greeks. They were needy, annoying, men and they had to personally deal with some nearly made up problem they had. Men were complaining about them as well. He'd left explicit instructions for Munahid and Rauf that unless it was something ridiculous that they were to smooth over any problems as quickly as possible using any means required. If it got out of hand they were to get Zaki. Old he might have been but you weren't a close friend of the Mentor if you weren't able to shove someone's foot in their mouth, and Ciro might actually respect Zaki, unlike Munahid and Rauf.

He thought it was more the other option.

_"Altair is very wise then."_

_"He has his moments,"_  Malik agreed. _"Never forget that he is Mentor for a reason. You and your father and friends. He is as other Grandmasters, powerful, cunning, clever, and does not appreciate being talked back to,"_  and oh Altair hated that one so much, or being told to not talk or talked down to. He wasn't an idiot, though he had his moments of truly spectacular stupidity _. "Those old men that came with you think that because they're older and from Greece they can get away with more."_

 _"It is the opposite,"_  it was good to see Jase understood. The other man wasn't a bad guy, Malik sort of regretted having to humiliate him once the Threshing was over.  _"We must be more respectful. This isn't our place. I wish my father understood that. He doesn't like it here, too hot he says, too dry, and he doesn't…"_

_"Doesn't?"_

_"I speak too much. Forget I said anything,"_  and Malik didn't bother to prod, Jase was closed off to him. He knew what Jase was going to say though, Ciro didn't like them, him and Altair, or the Syrians. They continued to ride in silence.

—

They didn't catch up to Altair until after midday, he and his black horse and guard were waiting for him at the top of a cliff that looked over more of the mountain. Below it was a town, but not one that was to be Threshed this year. It was in it's dormant years. They would have to ride the rest of the day to reach the first town. The farm land here was cut into the mountains and it was filled with wheat and barley and vegetables and fruits. Some fields were half picked, others were empty, a few remained full to bursting, waiting to be harvested.

"Lunch time then?" Malik asked as he drew Satim up to Mika'il. Altair said nothing, but he wasn't moody now. He was just silent. He silence was his agreement and Malik grunted and swung down from Satim, a little shaky on his legs. It had been two years since he'd last ridden a horse any true distance, his legs hurt. "We're stopping for lunch," Malik announced, reaching down to rub his aching thighs.

The rest of their party dismounted and their guards unpacked saddlebags and handed out fruit, cheese, water, and some roasted lamb. "None for Colin," Altair said, turned in his saddle, watching as a guard almost handed Colin some bread. The guard retracted his hand and moved on. Colin sort of scowled at him, Altair just stared back coolly, his hood up again. Colin looked away. Only then did Altair dismount and seem to become human again.

"Was that really necessary?" Malik asked him quietly as Altair reached into his own saddlebag to give Mika'il some water and a treat of oats, stroking him shiny black neck. Altair just gave him a confused. "Don't play innocent with me Altair."

"You're the one who told me they should fear me," Altair said without remorse or apology. "So," Mika'il had finished the oats. Altair dusted his hands. "I'm making them fear me," and Malik had no response for that. Especially not when a guard came and gave him some food. Malik took an cup of pomegranate seeds and went over to Kamal as Altair found a place to sit, hunkered down and didn't talk to anyone. He was still in a mood, not because of the Greeks though. This was an Abbas mood, a Grandmaster mood. He was thinking about the Order and his duties.

"How was she?" Malik asked Kamal who was drinking some water.

"Quiet," Kamal said and put his water away. "The longer I'm with you the more I see their reflections."

"Then I expected her to be pissy," Malik said, dumping most of the seeds into his mouth.

"She was. But it was a quiet pissed off," Kamal laughed. "Does Altair know?"

"He's about to," and Malik opened the basket attached to the top of Kamal's horse's saddle bags. Sawsan glared at him from where she was. "Oh stop that," and he scooped her up into one arm. "Clean out the lining if she made a mess."

"Yes, sir," Kamal said, "I'll have lunch first," Malik nodded to that.

He saw Jase and Colin talking, looking at him, Colin pointed, but they were speaking Greek, he couldn't understand them. He knew what they were saying though, it was about Sawsan. Malik walked over to Altair, who was looking down the mountain, picking at a bread roll with some roasted lamb and figs he'd seemingly stuffed into the soft center. Altair didn't look when Malik approached him though. "Hey," Malik said, Altair didn't motion that he's heard. Malik sighed, "Stop thinking so much I can hear it," and then he dropped Sawsan onto his shoulders. Altair sat up straight with a jolt. And then Sawsan was purring her loud purr and rubbing against the side of Altair's hooded head.

He twisted and looked up at Malik, "You brought Sawsan?" he was surprised. Malik hadn't told him. He'd had a feeling something in the first day would piss Altair off, or in the coming days. What better thing to have around than something that turned Altair into an easy to manage boy of a child? With Sawsan around Malik wouldn't have to work so hard.

"Yes."

Altair shoved the last few bites of the bread into his mouth and picked Sawsan up from his shoulders and put her in his lap. He held her in his lap and stroked her head. "Thank you," Altair said in a very low tone, so no one but Malik could hear.

Malik said nothing and left him to find his own lunch. As he did he saw Jase sneak Colin some bread and pomegranates. He'd tell Altair about it later. He wouldn't appreciate Jase undermining his authority in the slightest by disobeying him. It'd be a good lesson for the younger man as clearly Malik's story hadn't stuck. It wouldn't be severe, but next time Jase might not get to eat either.


	22. Ambrosia Lily

The sun was nearing the horizon when they finally came upon the first village to be Threshed. Altair was up front, Sawsan balanced on his shoulders like a sort  of living ornament. People knew nearly instantly that they were there and most of them came out of their homes to see them or looked out their windows to watch them. The village was silent and people were keeping their boys inside, out of sight. Malik rode slowly behind Altair with the others. They stopped at the central square where the well was. A moment passed and then a man came out of a house. He was short and robust with a gut like a barrel and a salted beard. He wore a fine green turban and had soft hands and looked like he possessed a weak constitution.

"Al Mualim," he said respectfully, "My name is Tazim ibn Robeel al-Salar," he said and bowed a little.

"Hello Tazim. We’ve had a long day on the road," Altair said and kept Mika’il in check though the horse snorted and thrashed his tail.

"Of course," Tazim said, "We’ve been expecting you, Al Mualim," he turned his head, "Salamah," he barked and a teenage boy came forward, his eyes averted from them though Malik saw him trying to steal glances. All the older boys in these villages had escaped the Threshing, though no doubt knew all the stories about what happened to the boys who were taken. "My son will show your men where they can put their horses."

Altair looked over at Malik and then dismounted, Sawsan jumped from his shoulder to the saddle as he moved and then to the ground. Mika’il didn’t even twitch. “Very well,” Altair said and looked at Navid’s guards, “Tend to the horses then come find us,” he said as the others dismounted.

"Yes, sir," the guards said and took all the reigns.

Altair rubbed Mika’il’s nose, “Be good,” he told his horse softly as he handed the reins over to a guard who looked wary of Altair’s horse. They followed after Salamah.

"If you’d follow me, Al Mualim," Tazim said, "we have room for you," and Altair followed him, motioning for the others to follow him. Sawsan padded along next to him happily, her tail high. "My wife has also been cooking all day in preparation," Tazim said.

"You honor us," Altair said and Tazim looked back, honest surprise on his face. Malik rose his brows, clearly the men who normally came here were not so gracious. "Are you headman, Tazim?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Tazim said. "Forgive their stares, sir, they’re not used to seeing so many of you much less yourself."

Altair smirked a little, “Perhaps they will see more of us soon,” he said.

"I assume you received our message," Malik said.

"Oh, yes," Tazim nodded.

"Good. Are we almost there Tazim?"

"Here," Tazim said. He’d stopped in front of an empty house that looked like it hadn’t been used in a time. He pushed the door open and while the outside was slightly debunk the inside was well maintained. "We didn’t know how many you were bringing, there are only three bedrooms, the others can sleep in the common room."

"How many beds?" Altair asked.

"Ah well, we’ve heard you often share rooms. There are two cots a room," Tazim said nervously, wringing his hands and hoping everything was all right with that.

"Excellent," Altair said. "Thank you Tazim, you’ve done well by us."

"O-of course Al Mualim," Tazim bowed again. "I’ll leave you and your men to get settled in. When dinner is ready we’ll bring it," he said.

"Good good," and then Tazim saw himself out quickly.

"Malik and I will take one room. Kamal, you and Bo will have the other. Those taking care of the horses will get other room. You two," he pointed at the guards, "Will sleep out here. _J_ _ase, Colin, you will sleep out here_ _,_ " Altair said, looking around the common area. It wasn’t bad but there were slightly thin rugs, and a few pillows, someone had always left some blankets if they were needed.

“ _Out here?_ " Colin demanded.

_"Yes Colin, that’s what I said."_

_"You can’t be serious Master. You would put some guards over us."_

Altair’s face was hard, _“I didn’t miss your insubordination. Jase, you gave Colin some of your lunch. Colin, you took it. You’d both get beds instead if you’d obeyed me the first time. Now you get the floor. My own aren’t complaining about the floor. So neither shall you,”_  Malik put his hand over his mouth and turned away to hide his smile. “Now, I’m tired, come get me when dinner is here,” Altair said and headed for one of the rooms, he made a tiny motion and Malik followed.

"You’re so cruel," Malik said, still smiling as he closed the door.

"Al Mualim is known to be such," Altair said and laid down on the cot with a groan. "This is horrifically uncomfortable. I think the floor would be more comfortable," Altair complained and shifted around to try and get comfortable.

"You like the floor," Malik said, "if me remembering how often you slept out in my walled garden was any indication."

"I like windows," Altair said shortly, still wriggling to find a comfortable position.

"Oh stop that," Malik said, going over to him and put his hand on his chest. Altair stilled.

"Ah, much better," Altair said.

"You just wanted me to pay attention to you, is that it?"

"Maybe," Altair said coyly. Malik rolled his eyes.

"Help me move this," Malik said and went over to the other cot. Altair rolled out of his and they picked the cot up and carried it to be next to the other one. Altair got back into the bed again. As he did there was a knock on the door. "Yes?" Malik called.

"Master, Grand Dai, your bags," a guard called and Malik went to the door. The guard handed Malik the bags and then Malik closed the door. He tossed them at the foot of the bed.

"Why did you bring her?" Altair asked, lying on his cot, Sawsan standing on his chest, head down for scritches and tail up, tip twitching happily.

"Because I knew you were going to be a horror without her," Malik said and sat on the bed. "Better this way," he ran his hand along Sawsan’s rump which arched up and she actually meowed. Which was odd and sort of cute as Sawsan very rarely meowed.

"I’d miss her," Altair agreed, Sawsan was purring loudly and then just plopped down on his chest, "and the others too," Altair glanced at Malik expectantly.

"I only brought her," Malik huffed.

"Too bad."

"Yes, what a sight that would be, a bunch of horses followed by a train of cats. As if most people don’t think we practise witchcraft as it is." Altair ‘hmmed’. "So, how are we going to find these boys, and what if none meet your new standard?"

"I just want to meet them," Altair said. "I talked to Zaki, he used to go out during Threshing. He said a lot of times he just picked the most desperate boys, or the ones who would be least missed, sometimes they were picked totally at random. That won’t happen this time. I want to meet them, talk to them. I want smart boys, I don’t give a shit if they can’t use a sword."

"Weren’t you the one who said most of them die?" Malik asked.

"They might be a bit battered when they become senior novices but I don’t want them to be warriors. I want them at a desk, making sure the Order doesn’t fall around our heads."

"Wise choice then."

"I’ve been known to be," Altair said.

"Yes, sometimes," Malik agreed and flicked his nose. Altair rubbed his nose with a sour look when there was another knock, "Yes," Malik called.

"Masters, dinner has arrived," one of their guards called.

"Excellent," Altair said, sitting up, grabbing Sawsan as he did. "I’m starving."

"Of course you are," Malik chuckled and stood up as Altair hopped to his feet. "You seem in such high spirits," he noted.

"I am. Because Abbas isn’t around to mess this up and I have actually done something good here," Altair said, "Sawsan is here and…" he paused and then suddenly seeming shy, pressed his lips against Malik’s, "you’re with me," he said softly.

"Always," Malik said. "Now, lets go eat," he said. Altair nodded and he dropped Sawsan and they left the room.

—

The next morning after a light breakfast Altair told Tazim all boys from eight to twelve were to be brought to him. No boys were exempt from this and he said families who hid boys would be dealt with. Malik highly doubted Altair would really do anything, but it was a good threat.

A dozen boys were brought before Altair and Malik. Some were almost too old but Tazim assured them that they all were within the age limit Altair had set. Altair told Tazim to give the boys food if they were hungry and for his men to be relaxed. He didn’t want to scare them.

The first boy was one of the older ones, he said he was eleven but looked more like he was fourteen or fifteen because of his height and that his voice was already changing. “What’s your name?” Altair asked him.

"Abraham al-Rajid," said the boy.

"You know what the Threshing is, Abraham?" Altair asked.

"Its where you take boys back to the mountain," he swallowed, he was afraid.

"This is true. To make them better," Altair said.

"T-they’re sick?" that confused him.

Altair chuckled, amused. “No. We take those boys and turn them into men.”

"Oh," Abraham croaked.

"Are you afraid, Abraham?" Malik asked him thoughtfully.

"I-I… yes, I am," he swallowed.

"Tell us about your home life," Altair said.

"I live with my mother. My father is away fighting in Saladin’s army."

"So you’re the man of the house?" Altair asked.

"Yes," he nodded, "I have a little sister. And I’m afraid you’re going to take me away."

"You may go," Altair said.

"W-what?"

"Your family needs you. You may return to them," and Altair waved his hand shooing him. Abraham started crying in relief as he thanked them and left quickly as if they would change their minds.

"That was very kind of you," Malik said.

"His father is probably dead," Altair said bluntly. "Without him his mother and sister will be without. He’d try to run away, or he’d be bad at the lessons and end up getting killed from being distracted by thinking of his family. It wasn’t kindness that made me say no."

"It was practicality."

"Yes," Altair said as the door opened and the next boy came in. This one was very young but Altair sent him away too after finding out he was sick often. They continued this for all the boys. Altair sent them all back to their families.

The seventh boy though was different. He came in with his eyes cast down and when he sat he didn’t tremble or fidget. “Look at us, boy,” Malik said. The boy looked up, meeting their gaze. “Good. What’s your name?”

"Kadar Rabian," he said and Altair looked over at Malik briefly. Malik didn’t even flinch. His Kadar was not the only one, he couldn’t expect boys to not have his name.

"Are you afraid, Kadar?" Altair asked.

"No, sir," he said softly.

"Why not?" Altair asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Because I wouldn’t mind going with you. I’m an orphan, sir," Kadar said and Malik’s heart throbbed. He looked nothing like his Kadar and was very dark of skin and had dark hair and eyes. But Malik sympathized. "My father died in the crusade, my mother when I was born."

"His other wives?" Altair asked.

"They went back to their families. I was left here."

"Hmm. Well, Kadar, the Assassins is not a charity," Altair said harshly.

"I know, sir. I’ve heard the adults talk. If you take me I’ll have a hard life. But I’ll be fed, and clothed, and be safe. Here the other kids pick on me for having no family."

Altair leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “You want to come with us?”

"Yes, sir," he nodded a little. "I’ll do whatever you say. I just don’t want to be a burden."

"Then don’t be," Altair said, "Go outside and ask for a man named Masum. Tell him you’re coming with us," and he waved his hand at Kadar. Kadar slid off the chair and left quickly. "You like him," Altair said, looking at Malik.

"I’m sympathetic," Malik said, giving him a look.

"Now that is three Kadars who have been in our lives. Your brother, our cat, and this novice."

"I’m sure there will be many more," Malik said and couldn’t help but feel a little pleased when Altair had called Kadar their cat. The next boys Altair also sent away till the eleventh. The boy was really that, and looked about eight and had a pinched face and looked irritated at everything. "Hello," Malik said as the boy sat. "What’s your name?"

"Muhammad Miraj," he said and sniffed though didn’t seem upset.

"How old are you?" Altair asked.

"Almost nine," he said, face still tight and pinched.

"You can relax Muhammad," Altair said rather kindly, "We just want to talk to you."

"I am relaxed. My face is just like this," which was like he’d swallowed a lemon.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I don’t know. Baba said he angered a djinn and they messed up my face before I was born."

"My," Altair grinned a little and sat back, steepling his fingers. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Three brothers, two sisters, all older," Muhammad said.

"So you get ignored a lot I’m sure." Muhammad nodded. "Are you a smart boy Muhammad?"

"My omy says that when someone is disfigured Allah gives them other gifts," he said.

"Ah? So do you have any?" Muhammad shook his head, "Can you read or write?" Muhammad nodded, "What do you read Muhammad?"

"The Q’ran," Muhammad said, "my omy has one, her baba is imam."

"Do you like to read Muhammad?"

"Yes, sir," he said with his funny pinched and angry face. "I’ve memorized parts of the Q’ran already. It’s the only book in the house."

"How many times have you read it?"

"Five times," Muhammad said and licked his lips. "Cover to cover."

Altair smiled rather gently. “Would you like to go someplace where there are a lot of books Muhammad?” Altair asked him.

Muhammad’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I want to read other books.”

Altair smiled, “Good. You can come with us then. You will get to read any book in our library. How does that sound?”

"I like it," Muhammad said.

"Good. Go outside and ask for a man Masum. He’ll know what to do," Muhammad nodded and slipped off the chair. He smiled at them both but with his twisted, mutilated, face it looked more like a grimace. But Malik couldn’t deny the happiness in his eyes. Muhammad left.

"One more," Malik said. "Though that was a bit cruel to him."

"He will get all the books he can handle," Altair said simply. "But he will have to earn them."

"Yes," the last boy came in but he was nothing special. Altair sent him away.

"What do you think of the new novices?" Altair asked Malik as they got up from their chairs and went into the main room where their men and Kadar and Muhammad were waiting. Kadar was sitting by himself quietly, not looking at anyone and Muhammad was being shown some hand trick by one of the guards, watching as they made a pebbled vanish and reappear behind Muhammad’s ear.

"They’ll do," Malik said. "Is that everyone?" he asked the guards.

"Yes Grand Dai," Masum said and then looked out the door to double check.

"Good. When is Navid coming?" Malik asked.

"He should meet us at the next village, sir," Masum said.

Malik nodded, “I want one of you to head back to Masyaf tomorrow with our two new novices and have Rauf settle them in.”

"Sir, Navid said-

"Navid isn’t here," Malik said. "I am. And I am your Grand Dai, are you going to question me?"

Masum’s lips went thin, “No, sir,” he bowed his head a little.

"That’s what I thought," Malik said. "Someone go and tell Tazim we leave in the morning. I’m sure this village will be glad to be rid of us."

"Yes, sir," Masum said and motioned to another of the guards, they left quickly. "Anything else, sir?" he asked.

"Someone get my horse," Altair said.

"Altair," Malik said in a slight warning voice.

"Sir?" Masum asked warily, clearly he (like most of Masyaf honestly) knew about Malik and Altair’s fights.

"Did you not hear me Masum?" Altair asked but was staring Malik down. Malik just rolled his eyes. Then Altair looked at Bo and Jase, "Care to join me?" he asked them first in Arabic then in Latin.

"Sure!" Bo said, as excitable as he usually was.

 _"It would be an honor Master_ _,_ " Jase said with a bow of his head.

"Get my horse, and their horses," he pointed at Jase and Bo, looking at Masum. "Call me when they’re out front," and then he walked back into his room. Malik scowled after him. Masum looked at Malik once more for full approval. Malik nodded with a sigh and he heard Masum giving an order as he followed Altair back inside.

"Where are you going?" Malik asked as Altair sat on the bed, Sawsan jumped up onto his lap.

"There is a lake nearby. I thought I’d go see it. Better than staying here all day."

Malik eyed him, “Are you planning something?”

"Only what you told me to do," Altair said innocently, petting Sawsan. "You told me to make friends with Jase. I am."

"Don’t get too attached Altair," Malik reminded him, "He’s a Greek."

"I know," Altair bobbed his head. "But really, it’s me? Do you honestly think I’ll get attached?"

Malik frowned, “Yes. I do. You got attached to me after all,” he said.

Altair did not look at Malik as he spoke, “You’ve always been important to me Malik. You were one of the only people I considered my friend when we were young.”

"Even though you didn’t like me."

Altair looked at him, “I don’t like anyone. I barely like myself. I tolerate you more than others, more than me.”

Malik’s lips went thin, “I know that you don’t mean that the way it sounds. So… I’m just going to take it the way you actually mean it,” but Altair just looked confused. “Your speech is as muddled as your script, novice!” Malik cried.

"Sorry," Altair said, frowning. Malik rolled his eyes. "I just try."

"I know," Malik sighed.

"You know I don’t intentionally try your patience, Malik."

"I know," Malik now felt sort of bad for going off on him. He frowned at Altair a moment  thoughtfully before nudging Sawsan off his lap and sitting on it, his knees on the bed.

"Yes?" Altair asked when Malik said nothing for several minutes, just looking at Altair.

"I’ve known you for a long time," Malik said.

"You have," Altair agreed.

"And yet I still know nothing," his brow furrowed. Malik liked to think himself an expert on Altair. He knew all the things Altair was. Or he thought so anyway. He pushed back Altair’s hood and grabbed his chin so he could look into Altair’s eyes. They were the same eyes they always were. Bright, and expressive, and actually rather lovely. Without his hood Altair was naked and laid bare. Altair’s amber eyes danced across Malik’s face, unable to stay still on one feature, much like the man himself, always moving and always so restless. "I wonder, sometimes, what Azrael was thinking when he looked at you. What he saw."

"I don’t know," Altair said. "What do you see?"

Malik’s mouth went thin, his brows low. There was a knock on the door. “Grandmaster,” a guard called, “the horses are ready.”

"Coming," Altair called back.

Malik let go of Altair’s chin. He pulled up Altair’s hood for him and hung onto the side for a moment, “I don’t know,” he said and got up so Altair could go to his horse.

—

Nearly two weeks passed like this. They would ride and spend two days at each village. One day to ease the aches of their journey, and the second to interview the boys. The third day they left early in the morning as the sun rose. Navid joined them at one point and the commander was a welcome addition. He and Malik talked in great detail about the position of guards in the area, but little else. Altair took up most of his time in the saddle talking to Jase in Latin, and to Bo (surprisingly enough) in Chinese. Malik had no idea where Altair had learned Chinese but he wasn’t about to ask either.

The Threshing for Masyaf would be over in another week or so. They had only two more villages left to inspect and Malik was grateful. In two weeks the only thing he’d gotten out of so much riding was a chapped ass and a short temper.

They stopped at a village in the bend of a river near nightfall. The village was expecting them and showed them where they could stable their horses. In some towns they stayed in empty houses, in others the headman took them into their own homes. This town was a bit more wealthy than some of the others and the headman had a large home with a walled courtyard and a rather large stable.

In the morning the boys were once more seen through to them, one after another. Malik was unimpressed with all of them, as was Altair who dismissed most of them boredly. Malik was making idle designs on a piece of paper, ones he used to draw on invitations for rich people for this thing or that thing. Simple, but pretty things. Then a boy came in and Malik didn’t even look at him till he was sitting. He looked about ten and gangly with a short torso and long legs even at his age. “What’s your name?” Malik asked, since Altair barely seemed interested now.

The boy’s eyes flicked across them, his eyes were strangely light, but not like Kadar’s. “Jihad,” he said.

"Jihad what?"

Jihad blinked, “I don’t know,” he said. “I was raised in this village. But I don’t have a family.”

"So that then would make you Jihad ibn La’Ahad?" Malik prodded and sent Altair a smirk, making Altair finally seem to pay attention. Altair rolled his eyes.

"I suppose," Jihad would not look at them. His eyes kept flitting about the room like a dragonfly. It was strange.

"Is something wrong Jihad?" Altair asked.

"Ah, I’m sorry sir. I was born unable to see," his eyes focused on Altair but a moment but didn’t stick.

"You’ve managed to survive thus far it seems," Altair said, now somehow more interested.

"Yes, sir. Sometimes I can see… colored shapes in the darkness. At least I think they’re colors,"

Altair leaned forward, his interest clear and surprising. “What sort of colors?” He was staring at Jihad intently, very nearly staring at him.

"I wouldn’t know. One is very cool. It reminds me of the way a smooth stone feels, cool to the touch and easy to hold. I see that color the most. The others are bright and stark and sharp, but I don’t think they’re a color."

"Sounds like blue and white," Malik said, though was unconvinced. It sounded like a tale to entertain people. Like he was having a go at them. It wouldn’t be the first time. They’d heard all sorts of stories, especially from disabled children who wanted to make an impression. They wanted a different life, one where their disability, while probably not help them, wouldn’t make them a complete outcast.

"Can you do that now?" Altair asked, surprising Malik.

"Ah… maybe?"

"Do it. Tell me what you see," Altair said.

"You believe me?" Jihad asked, sounding eager and hopeful.

"Yes. Now do it and tell me," Altair said.

Jalal squeezed his eyes shut and then after a moment opened them again. Malik leaned back in his chair, floored. Jihad had clear, yellow, eyes now. He stared. What the hell was going on? “I suppose I see you two. You’re squat cool pools.”

"Blue," Altair said, he was smiling so wide his face was about to split. Malik had never seen Altair smile like that, "that color you see. It is blue."

"Really? I like this color," Jihad smiled, "it feels safe."

"It is," and Malik turned to Altair in confusion. What the hell was Altair talking about? He seemed to know exactly what Jihad was talking about. But how? "Can you only see us? Do you see other things?"

"Not really. Maybe now and then I’ll catch the glimpse of something. It’s all really hazy," his eyes lost the clear yellow look, returning to a fuzzy pale shade of no real color. "Sorry, I- it gives me a headache when I do it too much."

"You just have to practice," Altair said, he was still smiling.

"I do? I try. How do you know?"

"I bet you know why," Altair said.

"… Oh," and he looked in Altair’s general direction, "I thought I was alone."

"No one is ever alone," Altair said. "You know why we’re here, right Jihad?"

"Yes," Jihad nodded.

"Would you like to return to Masyaf with us?"

"Would you teach me, Al Mualim?" he asked.

Altair’s smile was surprisingly gentle now, “Yes.” Malik was still staring at Altair like he was crazy. He could not believe what he was hearing.

"I don’t know how good I’d do in a fight," Jihad said.

"I will worry about that. Now answer the question."

Jihad blinked hard and looked at them again with yellow eyes. He met Altair’s eyes, “I would,” he said.

"Excellent! Go outside and tell Masum you’re coming with us. You’ll be sent to Masyaf for our return."

"Thank you," Jihad said.

"Do not thank us, Jihad," Malik said, "Your life shall be your name."

"I know," Jihad said, standing. "But I’m glad someone listened to me, and understands. My life may be a trial but at least it will not be in vain."

"You’re very wise for a little boy," Malik said.

"Being an outcast tends to make you so," Jihad nodded a little, "Thank you," and he left.

Malik immediately turned to Altair, “Explain. Now,” he said firmly.

"Not now," because another boy was coming in.

"You," Malik barked at the boy who jumped, terrified, "Wait outside until we call you," and he darted back out. "And you," he grabbed Altair by the front of his robe, "What the hell was that about?"

"Judgement," Altair said cooly and his eyes changed, they faded from the familiar amber Malik was used to to a gold. Malik’s face went a bit slack. He always thought he’d imagined the times he thought Altair’s eyes flashed golden under his hood. But there they were. Bright, golden, and seemed to cut right through Malik like a hot knife. He released Altair abruptly, like he’d been burned. Altair tilted his head at Malik. "Are you afraid?" he asked.

"Slightly," Malik said, "What is this madness? Witchcraft? Sorcery?"

"I prefer to think of it as a gift from Allah," Altair said.

"And what does it do?"

"It allows me to see as other men cannot. I can weigh the value of a man by looking at them. Blue is a friend, red an enemy. Sometimes someone appears as a sun in my eyes. They’re more important than I know, or sometimes I do know. The men I must kill appear as such, bright and yellow and cannot escape my blade," Altair said.

"And you can do this at will?" he asked. He also wanted to ask how he appeared to Altair. But was so afraid of what Altair would say. He didn’t know why. Except he did. His mind pulled up that day in Jerusalem when, in a stupid fit of jealousy, snatched up Sawsan, locked her in a drawer, and done something unspeakable. He shoved it back down. He did not normally allow himself to think of that day. It was a dark smear on his life he wished to escape, or at the very least, forget.

Altair nodded, “It is a very handy trick. It also allows me to see in the dark to some extent, so long as there is some light.”

"So you see blue, red, and yellow. What else?"

"White, sometimes. A safe place to hide, or someone who will offer me shelter. Mostly though it’s just… gray. Meaningless. Outside of Masyaf blue is rare and inside so is red."

"And yellow?"

Altair smiled a little, “I see yellow all the time.”

"Who?"

"Azrael was yellow before he humiliated me. You are."

"So I am your target?"

Altair chuckled and leaned over to him, “No. But if you were I’d say I already caught you,” and he pressed a light kiss to Malik’s lips. He relaxed a little. He had to remind himself that yellow was also someone important. Azrael had been important to Altair. And Malik was. “My own personal sun,” he grinned and kissed Malik again. The kisses, surprisingly, went a long way to calm Malik down about the whole crazy experience.

"Now," Altair pulled away, his eyes once more clear, "We still have a few more boys to see."

"Right," Malik sighed and called them in.

He was barely paying attention though. All he could think about was Altair’s eyes, and Jihad’s eyes. How could two people unrelated share such a… talent he supposed. Altair said they were a gift from Allah, to pass judgement on men and deem their worthiness. So then why did a blind boy possess such an ability? How did he come across it? It made sense why Allah would chose Altair. He was capable and could act. But a boy who could not see couldn’t. Jihad could barely walk around by himself, let alone act to right the wrongs he saw in the world with such a gift.

Malik was still puzzling over it after they’d sent away the last two boys. “Malik,” Altair’s voice drew him out of his thoughts. “Do not think so hard.”

"Well one of us has to, and it clearly isn’t you," Malik bit back.

Altair chuckled, “Do not let Allah’s gifts trouble you. He works in mysterious ways.”

"But why a blind boy of all people?"

"I don’t know," Altair said, "but then I’m the last person you want to ask about Allah."

"Is that so?" Malik asked as Altair got out of his chair with a groan.

"Yes."

"And why is that?" Malik asked him with an amused snort.

"Because," Altair said, in front of Malik and put his hands on the table, looking down at Malik. "Allah is lie and I am a heretic," and he left Malik with that. Malik stared after him and at least his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Of all the things he’d call Altair, an atheist, a heretic, was not one of them.

Recognition bubbled up from the back of his mind. ‘Allah is a lie’ he’d said. Why did that sound so familiar? Malik knew he’d heard that phrase somewhere else. Recently. He couldn’t remember from where though. Who had said it? The wording was very specific. Allah is a lie. Not that he didn’t believe in Allah- though that was also true- but that Allah himself was a lie, a figment of the imagination like a bad dream. Malik’s brow furrowed as he looked at where Altair had been. This was going to bother him. Who had said that? Who had said that?


	23. Sacred Blue Lily

They arrived at the last village of this year's Threshing as the sun was still heading towards the apex of the sky. People called their children into their homes when they entered the town and were wary. Altair had pushed them all hard for this, so that they could make this village a one day stop and they could return to Masyaf. Malik did not blame him. He missed sleeping in his bed and the view and the cooler air of the fortress.

"Who's the headman here?" Altair called as Mika'il turned in a circle restlessly. To their surprise a woman came forward. She was tall and robust and wore her hijab proudly. When she moved she looked powerful, as much so as any man. "Who are you?" Altair asked, head cocked to the side like an inquisitive bird.

"My name is Isra bint Ibrahim," she said, "My husband is the headman."

"And where is he?" Altair asked but did not seem particularly scornful to be dealing with a woman, judging by the lines of Altair's body Altair looked more impressed, or amused, perhaps even smug.

"He's sick," Isra said.

"No sons?" Altair asked.

"Allah has not been forthcoming. Am I to take it you are Al Mualim?" she asked him.

"That I am bint Ibrahim," Malik could hear the smile in his voice, but it wasn't a smile of contempt. Altair sounded downright pleased.

"Well," Isra looked him over, sizing him up, "I was expecting an old man. You certainly are much easier on the eyes," she smirked. From his horse Altair laughed.

"We've ridden since before the sun was up Isra," Altair said, "and we wish to make this as quick and painless as possible for all parties."

"Of course Al Mualim," Isra said. "Will you be staying the night?"

"If we must," Altair said and Mika'il shifted, stepping to the side a bit like he was anxious. He wanted to run, because Mika'il loved to run. "If we finish quickly we'll leave before the day is yet over."

"Then by all means, Al Mualim, if you'd follow me," and she turned and started to walk away. Altair clicked to his horse and nudged his sides. The black demon of a horse started to follow. Malik looked back at the other members of their party and nearly laughed. They all looked in some state of shock at not only how a woman had spoken to their Grandmaster, but that he hadn't put her in his place. Chuckling under his breath Malik shook his head with amusement and followed Altair and Isra.

There were no stables here but a pen for their horses and once they'd taken their tack off their horses and put them on the fence Isra showed them to a place they could stay. She promised some lunch and drinks and that she'd gather the boys for their interviews. Altair gracefully fell into a chair and Sawsan hopped up into his lap. The others spoke quietly between each other, but no one wanted to bring up the topic of how Altair had treated Isra or how she had spoken to him either. but no one spoke too loudly. Altair ignored them anyway.

Lunch was brought and they ate and when they were near completion Isra came again and told them that the boys of the age they specified were ready to be seen. Altair picked himself up, licking his fingers, and went into the one extra room in the little house. Malik grabbed two more grape leaves before following. Altair deposited Maik's notebook on the small table they'd been given as well as an inkwell and quill. When Masum saw they were ready he sent in the first boy.

All the boys were shockingly lackluster here. Malik was honestly surprised. With a head woman like Isra he'd expected the boys to at least show some character. Altair was bored and clearly just wanted to get this over with.

One boy came in and he walked with a limp. Malik looked at what was causing it and saw his leg was twisted. A bird defect. Altair saw it too. "Go back to your family boy, the Order has no use for you," Altair said.

The boy, who looked young but perhaps could be older, had a look of panic in his eyes, "Please, let me convince you," he nearly begged.

"The Order does not need cripples," Altair said.

A hot tongue of anger licked at Malik's stomach. Did Altair forget who he was sitting right next to? "We will hear," Malik said and sent Altair a look. Altair looked impassive.

"Thank you," the boy said and sat in the chair. His leg seemed less twisted when he sat, nearly normal.

"What is your name?" Malik asked.

"Abdul Salam Nazar," Abdul Salam said.

"How old are you?"

"I'm fourteen," though he looked perhaps ten."

"You're too old," Altair said.

"I know," Abdul Salam said, "But I want to join you."

"Malik," Altair said boredly, "Not that I don't understand your sympathy for cripples, but the point of this selectiveness is that boys do not die during training."

"And what about your blind novice?" Malik challenged, "Jihad got a chance. Abdul Salam will get to plead his case as well," he turned to Abdul Salam, "You do the sort of thing you ask don't you Abdul Salam? The life of an Assassin is not an easy one. Yours would not be either. Can you run or jump?"

"If I need to, I can," Abdul Salam said.

"And why do you want to join the Order then?" Altar asked.

Abdul swallowed nervously, "My brother and father are both Assassins."

"Your father?" Altair asked, "Who is your father?"

"He's dead, it matters not," Abdul Salam shook his head.

"And your brother?" Malik asked.

"He is still alive. He's a journeyman. I want to be an Assassin to make my father proud, Al Mualim," he said to Altair.

"Who was your father?" Altair asked again.

"Does it matter? As I said, he's dead-

"If your father married a woman and moved out here into the country then he is a traitor," and Abdul Salam swallowed and came up abruptly. "We have rules Abdul Salam, especially about children. If your father was an Assassins than you and your brother should have been brought to the fortress. Did that happen?"

"I- I don't know. He died when I was small. My mother has a new husband now. He brought us here."

"Don't be so harsh Altair," Malik scolded him.

"We have enough vipers in our midst Malik, what do you think bringing the son of a deserter into our fold would look like? I'd be humiliated."

Malik frowned at Altair, though the young Grandmaster was not wrong either. But Altair seemed especially agitated by the idea of a deserter's son as a novice. He looked back at Abdul Salam. "Tell me Abdul Salam, if we take you with us what can you offer our Order? You will never be a man of the sword. But when you are part of the Order your body and life belongs to the Order. What can you offer us to make us burden ourselves with your disability?"

Abdul Salam flushed brightly, "My body is not strong," he agreed. "But my omy and imam both say I'm very smart. My brother told me that not all Assassins are killers, some are scholars and men of knowledge."

"We do need those," Malik said to Altair mildly, "He's old enough to go straight into training to be a clerk or a lawyer."

Altair's mouth was thin, "If you want him Malik, he may come. As you said, I got my blind novice, so you will get the one with the twisted leg."

"You are too kind, Grandmaster," Malik said sarcastically and patted Altair's hand. "You may come back with up Abdul Salam but you must prove yourself useful to us. Even a blind boy can be taught to move without aid and see in the dark."

"I will prove myself!" Abdul Salam cried, "I won't let you down for this chance… sir," and Malik chuckled.

"Go tell Masum you're coming with-

The door was pushed open, "Masters," Kamal was standing in the doorway.

"Kamal, we're busy, what is it?" Altair asked irritably.

"You're going to want to come outside. Right now," his eyes were wide and while he didn't look afraid he did look… shocked.

"Why? What's going on?" Malik asked even as he started to get out of his chair.

"Abbas is here," Kamal said.

Altair was out of his chair in an instant and pushed Kamal aside to walk out. Malik followed behind him quickly. From inside the back room they hadn't heard the heated talk but as they got to the front they could. Altair pushed the front door open, "What's going on here?" Altair asked. Abbas and Navid were standing nearly nose to nose, jabbing fingers at each other furiously. Abbas' mouth was curved into a snarl and Navid looked about ready to rip Abbas face off. "Abbas… what are you doing here?"

Abruptly Abbas looked like a dog who'd been hit with a stick to discipline him, "Grandmaster," he said, and stared at Altair like he hadn't been expecting Altair to be here. "Wh-what are you doing here? Why aren't you in Masyaf?"

Altair stepped out of the building slowly. "I think, Abbas, the better question is why you are not on your mission?" Altair spoke mildly but Malik could detect the dangerous touch to Altair's words.

"I have finished already, Master," Abbas was quickly backpedaling.

"So then your target is dead?"

"Yes, sir," Abbas never called Altair 'sir'. Not once, not even when he was trying to be nice. At best he called Altair 'Master' but that was it. Something was wrong.

Altair leaned over to Abbas, his face shadowed by his dark hood, "Do not think you can lie to me Abbas," Altair said lowly. "I know what you are."

Abbas' eyes got hard. "I am as I was made, through no fault of mine," he hissed at Altair.

Altair stared Abbas down, "What are you doing here?" he asked again, "Why aren't you on your way home Masyaf if your mission is done?"

"I stopped to rest," Abbas said, "surely that is not something you may punish me for?" he said venomously. "Or will you have the Grand Dai do it for you instead? He always is much quicker to punish," Abbas sneered. Malik glared at Abbas furiously.

"You still have not told me why you are here Abbas," Altair said, surprisingly calm sounding. Malik keyed into it instantly though. Altair was angry. Kamal was the only other one of them who noticed and the novice backed away from them and hid behind the door, peering from behind the frame. Kamal sometimes has to suffer Altair's temper tantrums as much as Malik, he knew the signs of Altair's fury. Altair's wrath was so cold it burned.

"I told you, or can you not hear with that cowl on?" Abbas taunted him.

"I have told you not to lie to me Abbas," Altair said. Malik was looking between Altair and Abbas, honestly not knowing what would happen. Abbas did not know he was playing with fire. "I expect you to tell me the truth."

"What truth?" Abbas sneered, "Like the _truth_ you tell? You are one to speak of truth Altair when you're nothing but a lying bug," Malik's eyes widened at that. He honestly expected Altair to retaliate, but he didn't. Malik that he did not only through sheer force of will though. Altair was holding himself back. Holding back from what? Why didn't Altair discipline Abbas? In front of so many of their brothers that would be quite a story to tell to those to followed him. No doubt Haytham would build the tale into something more than it was and tell it to those who were Abbas' friends to make him look weak.

Altair took a breath as if to calm himself, "I am not a boy anymore Abbas. I won't be goaded by your taunts. It seems that you have still not grown up though. Still holding onto a lie about me."

"To hell with you!" Abbas waved his arm at Altair furiously. "You lie then as you lie now," Malik was just confused. Abbas and Altair had some history? As far as Malik knew Abbas had always hated Altair, the reason not so clear, though he always seemed jealous. Altair had never responded to Abbas hate. But the cool indifference Altair felt towards Abbas was more than enough to piss him off even more.

"I do not lie Abbas," Altair said, "you just always fail to see the truth. Now I will ask you one more time. _What are you doing here_ _?_ "

"It is no business of yours."

"I am your Grandmaster, you _will_ answer my question Abbas or so help me-

"Help you what?" Abbas asked scornfully, he seemed amazingly pleased with himself. "You are too weak to do anything Altair," he spat. "Unable to even wipe your ass without your invalid to help you." Briefly Malik saw red. No one spoke of him like that. He was respected in the Order for his ability and his knowledge and the fact that he'd helped Altair kill Azrael.

But if Malik was angry it was nothing compared to Altair. Malik saw the way Altair's left hand was limp by his side, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. Malik still didn't know why Altair was holding himself back. What was he waiting for? "Nothing to say for yourself?" Abbas asked and actually spit at Altair, right between his feet. "Cannot even defend himself without a cripple's help."

"Watch your words Abbas," Altair said, his head tipping to the side a little, his voice completely devoid of emotion or inflection. Malik took a half step back. He admitted he was afraid now. He'd only seen Altair like this a few times. Once at the regent's funeral, and after he'd been sworn in as Grandmaster. Altair's fury was chilling.

"Fuck you," Abbas spat, "Go running back to your whore of a _Grand Dai_ ," and now he spit towards Malik. It missed but landed a few inches in front of Malik in the dirt.

Malik nearly missed when Altair moved. In one moment he was standing a few feet from Abbas, the next he was right next to him, pulled him down by the front of his robes so he was double over against Altair. Altair shifted and it took moment to process what he was seeing. It was Altair more firmly shoving his hidden blade into Abbas' neck. Malik's face went lax, he stared.

Altair removed the hidden blade and pushed Abbas away. The man had enough time to put his hand up to his neck, look up at Altair with utter disbelief, before he fell forward onto his knees and then his face. Altair spit on his corpse. "Clean this up, get our horses. We're leaving now," Altair snapped at his men.

"A-are we taking him with us?" Navid asked, usually so unflappable Navid was pale in shock.

"Just his head," Altair said, his voice low and dangerous, "I've wanted it on a spike for some time," and then he turned and went back into the building. Kamal jumped out of the way like Altair being too near would burn him. Malik followed after, still in shock.

Inside Abdul Samal was staring at Altair, "You just killed one of your men," he said when Altair stopped at the door briefly.

Altair turned to the boy, "I killed a traitor," Altair growled, "remember the difference," and he went into the other room.

Malik managed to slip through before the door closed. Altair tugged off his robe and hood and threw them aside and did something Malik had never seen him do. He doubled over the bed as if in great pain, one hand at his head, the other holding him up. Malik went over to him and he laid a hand gently on his shoulder. Altair's shoulder twitched but he did not move. "Altair?" Malik asked carefully.

Altair's head jerked towards him, his eyes were bright, not gold, still amber, but dangerous like an eagle's and he was about to rip someone's throat out. Malik swallowed but did not removed his hand. "I can take a lot of cruel words and insults from that man," Altair's voice was surprisingly thin. "But I could not tolerate them towards you," and abruptly Altair stood, grabbed Malik's face, and kissed him. Malik was so surprised he barely responded before Altair pulled away again and sat on the bed, putting his head in one hand. He left a small trace of blood on Malik's cheek for that.

"You did not have to defend me," Malik said carefully, he did not want to piss Altair off. The ma burned hot and cold and right now his fury was directed nowhere but inwards.

"I defended myself as well," Altair said in a surprisingly quiet tone. "What he said… about you, what it implies to me," he sort of choked the words out.

"I'm surprised you held back for so long," Malik said mildly.

"He was my friend once," Altair said softly. "A long time ago when my father was still alive. We were thick as thieves. His father… died, and he blamed me for it. He hated me for nothing," he sighed. "As much as I wanted him dead-

"You still hoped he was still that boy somewhere?"

Altair nodded mutely. "I am used to his slander about me. I can handle it. But when he spoke of you like that," he looked up at Malik, "I have no doubt what have come from his foul mouth next."

"He's terribly uncreative if the best insult he had against you was sodemy," Malik said and tipped Altair's head upwards a bit.

"If it was just against me I would have let it go. But you…"

"I?"

"It is nothing like that," Altair said and tugged Malik towards him, arm around his waist.

"Is it now?" Malik asked him and ran and soft hand through Altair's hair.

"Sodemy is disgusting, and shameful," Altair said and Malik nearly winced, "I feel no shame for I am not disgusted, and there is nothing to be disgusted by."

Malik smiled a little, "No there is not _habibi_ ," he said gently. "What are we going to do now though? Abbas is dead."

"His group will disperse. Without the head the snake is powerless."

"Ah, but we face not a snake Altair; but a hydra. We cut one head off, another will show itself."

"Then I will be Hercules and cauterize each head after I cut it off," Altair asked, his eyes still bright to nearly the point of glowing.

"You read Hercules? I thought you did not read," Malik said.

"I read," Altair said, sounding insulted, "It just takes me longer."

Malik chuckled, "Well if you are Hercules then I am Iolaus," he said, "and help you with your many labors," he leaned down and kissed Altair on the forehead.

"Masters," Navid called, "the horses are ready at your leave."

"Wash your hands," Malik said, touching Altair's bloodied hand, "Then we'll go home." Altair rose and went to a basin which he poured water into and scrubbed the dried blood off his hand. Malik rubbed the blood on his cheek. Once Altair was done he pulled his hood and robe back on with a flourish.

Altair opened the door and walked outside, everyone was waiting on their houses. Abbas body was gone and there was a sack tied to Altair's saddle. Abdul Salam was sitting on the back of Masum's saddle and Kamal was holding the reins of three horses. His own, Malik's and Altair's. "We are ready?" Altair asked.

"Yes, sir," Navid said, trying to sound like he wasn't affected by what Altair had done. "Irsa said the town would bury his body. His grave won't be marked."

"Good," Altair swung up onto Mika'il effortlessly. Malik and Kamal climbed up onto their own horses, "Lets go home," he said and turned his black horse around and set him into a trot out of town. The others followed in a train behind him in absolute silence. No one watched them leave, no one wanted to be seen by the Al Mualim who had killed in their very town. Malik tried not to think about this. Altair did not want to be vicious and cruel like Azrael. Malik didn't think he would since each time Mika'il moved the sack attached to Altair's saddle bounced a little, dripping crimson droplets onto the dirt like the head of Medusa. Altair was not a demon, nor was he cruel, but he was no archaic hero either. Malik hoped that helped him in the long run.


	24. Blackout Lily

There were close to Masyaf, the trip home had been uneventful and Altair had made them move quickly. They caught up with another party from a previous village who was on their way back and they joined them on their way home. No one complained, not even the children though Malik could see they were exhausted and probably sore.

Altair didn’t say much while they rode home, Sawsan rode either on Altair’s shoulder, on the back of Mika’il’s saddle, or she walked. Her presence alone seemed to keep Altair back since every day Malik could see his shoulders getting tighter and tighter. Things were going to come to a head very soon and despite all of Malik’s planning he could do nothing to circumvent it. Abbas wasn’t supposed to die yet, but Malik had been powerless to stop it. One moment Abbas had been alive, the next moment he’d been dead. He didn’t know what this would do to his followers back at Masyaf, but then they wouldn’t know Abbas was dead until they arrived back home.

The mountain was well in sight when they saw a new party. They wore dark robes and children rode on horses behind them. Malik’s brow furrowed as they got closer, the new party much slower than their own.

“Master,” Kamal said, riding up next to him.

“Hmm?”

“Is Altair all right?”

Malik looked at Altair, riding at the front, back straight, “I think once we get home he will be,” Malik said, “Are you worried?”

“Somewhat,” Kamal admitted, “We both know about Altair’s moods. I’m worried he might-

“Might what?” Malik asked.

“I don’t know,” Kamal admitted, “But he just has me worried. He hasn’t talked since he killed Abbas. Not even to me. Has he to you?”

“A few times,” Malik said thoughtfully. “Though he’s very much in his own head at the moment,” Kamal nodded. “Just wait, he’ll be-

They’d come up upon the other party of riders. Altair had stopped, the members of the foreign party had stopped and were staring at Altair. Every one of their faces was afraid. Malik did not know them, but he recognized their clothes. They all for a rafiq’s dark robe, a few wore their white hoods up. The boys in the saddled behind or in front of them leaned around to look at them.

“What’s going on here?” Malik asked and nudged his horse forward to stand him beside Mika’il.

The rafiqs looked between each other and Malik knew. Altair also knew. “Kill them,” Altair said.

“Sir?” Navid asked, sounding shocked.

“These men are traitors: kill them before I have to do it myself,” and he said it with such cold authority that his men obeyed.

The rafiqs kicked their horses into a run and Malik watched them race away, completely stunned. It was surreal as the guards streamed past him, chasing after them, their horses thundering on the packed dirt road. Altair had not moved and stayed tall and erect on Mika’il’s back.

Malik watched, like he was floating above his body as the guards rode down the fleeing men, caught up with them and made them stop. Then one by one the men in black were yanked off their horses and stabbed through the neck. At this distance Malik couldn’t see the details, but he knew what was going on, he’d done it hundreds of time himself.

He started when Altair clicked to Mika’il and had him trot after them. Malik made his own horse follow, the entire party too stunned by what they’d just seen.

As they got close they could hear crying some some of the younger boys. Some of them looked barely five years old. Altair swung off his horse and onto the bloody ground where six men now lay dead. “Cut off their heads,” Altair said without feeling and grabbed the reins of the six horses and led them away. Malik looked away from the gruesome sight of the guards beheading the rafiqs and instead looked at Altair and was surprised by what he was seeing.

Altair was helping each of the boys off their horses. They are all young, at the youngest of their age range and even younger still and one of the older boys was holding an incredibly small child, though that boy couldn’t be more than seven. Altair got down on one knee in front of them and hung his head a moment before lifting it. Malik didn’t know what he was saying as he was too far to hear, but it did stop some of the crying.

They sat in silence save for the guards hacking through flesh and bone, until Altair returned. “Navid,” Altair said.

“Sir,” Navid said, sounding as shocked as everyone felt by what they’d just seen.

“Three of these boys will be going back home to their families. Have three of your men make sure they get there safely,” Altair said, “The other three are returning with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Navid said and then turned to bark orders at his men.

“Sir, what do you want us to do with the heads?” one of the guards asked, the font of his body was splattered in blood and his sword dripped with gore. Malik felt a little sick. Not for the death, but the gore. Kills were never this bloody unless you were bad at it. Assassins were clean and efficient, one strike, one life. To see the six heads unattached to their six bodies, their lifeless eyes looking where they had been rolled, did unpleasant things to Malik’s stomach.

“Bag them,” Altair said and mounted once more. “Three of you, take the boys who are coming with us, Masyaf is only a few hours away,” Altair again spoke with absolute authority. They waited until the heads had been put into bags and the boys rounded up. Three of Navid’s men left them, heading back away from Masyaf to return the boys to their homes, and three more now had children sitting in front of them. The smallest child rode with Navid who tied them into his commander’s robe so he couldn’t wiggle away. “Lets go home,” Altair said and kicked Mika’il’s flanks to get him going.

—

When they got to the entrance of the fortress everyone got off their horse, except Altair who rode right into the courtyard and motioned for Kamal. Kamal cast a look at Malik before running over to Altair. Altair leaned down to speak to him but Malik couldn’t hear. He left his horse for someone else to take as Kamal ran off, Altair dismounting, and headed for Altair.

Those in the courtyard hadn’t missed their Grandmaster riding into the courtyard and Malik could feel more than see dozens of faces turning to look at them.

“What are you doing?” Malik asked him quietly, following Altair as he picked a long spear up from a rack.

Altair gave him a crazed smirk, “Exactly what I need to do,” he said and went back to his horse. Mika’il’s very presence had many people feeling uneasy, and Malik didn’t exactly blame them. When Kamal came back Altair took something from him and tied it to the spear- pike really, it was too long to be a spear.

Malik just watched. Altair clearly had a plan and Malik was going to let it unfold. He felt a terrible feeling in his gut about it though.

Altair untied the sack attached to Mika’il’s saddle and the horse whinnied and shook his neck out and Altair placed the sack containing Abbas’ head on the ground with surprising gentleness. Then he spun the pike in his hand so it was point down and jammed it into the sack. Malik’s hand went up to his throat without thinking. Everyone was watching now and there were more than a few gasps when Altair lifted up the pike out of the sack and put it upright. Altair jammed the rod into the earth in front of the entrance of the fortress for everyone to see. Abbas severed head was then level with the banister above.

Hushed whispers and mutters started instantly, some pointed, but they all spoke softly. Attached to the pike was a black piece of cloth that hung limply without a breeze. When someone died they were buried with one three things. A red sash across their eyes for those who died in battle, a white for those who died out of battle, and a black for those who died a traitor. Black was rarely seen amid their dead.

“Bring the others,” Altair called to the guards who were standing by the entrance of the courtyard. His voice seemed unnaturally loud in that moment and the hushed talking grew in fervor. There were _more_ traitors?

The guards came forward and Kamal gave each of them a pike with a strip of black cloth tied to it. Altair spoke to the men softly and one by one, without any true choreography, they rose the six rafiq’s up to stand next to Abbas, their lifeless faces much more fresh than Abbas. Abbas’ face was swollen and discolored, the skin puffy and his eyes vacant and pale.

Once the seven heads had been put up Altair walked up to the front of the fortress and stood behind them, hands clasped behind him, at a relaxed rest, feet evenly spaced apart. He regarded all the men in the courtyard from under his black hood and turned up to look at the men and novices staring down at him from the windows. Everywhere he looked heads turned away and eyes were adverted. None could meet his gaze.

“I am not cruel,” Altair said, loud enough for all to hear. and took his hands from behind his back to hold the banister. “I am not a monster or a demon. I am a man. I was born into this world, just like all of you, screaming in blood. I was born into this Order and have breathed life into it since my first breath. My father was an Assassin, as was his father, and his father. This _Brotherhood_ is the only family I have ever known.

“Which is _why_ when men like this seek to corrupt _my family_ I get very upset,” Altair continued, his tone was not monotone, but Malik could not place what emotion he was partaking in. “The men you see before you are traitors. They willfully disobey all our laws and rules and my orders. They are kidnappers, and liar, and child beaters, and perhaps even child molesters,” the hushed talking that had ceased when Altair began speaking broke out briefly. They stopped when Altair continued. “This Order, this Brotherhood of Assassins, is the only life I have ever known. It can be violent at times, but it is never cruel, never unfair. All of us are equal, all of us share the same burdens as our brothers, the same hopes, the same dreams, the same wants. We are in this as one. 

 _“These men_ wanted to create a different Order. One where it is everyone for themselves, where the very foundation of our survival, our novices, are put into constant danger for their life and their mental health. These men were not above killing whoever they wished to reach their end goal. Which was one of them as the Grandmaster, with absolute authority over everyone. There would be no meeting of the Dais, there would be no restraint in allowing novices, who some of you call brothers and sons, to be beaten or molested or raped at the prerogative of anyone bigger than them.

“These are not the only men who want this,” Altair continued. “This is _one_ head of a mighty hydra,” Altair straightened where he was standing, “Even now they will continue to progress Abbas original plan,” finally he’d named the man at the heart of this. The bad seed that had been allowed to fester and grow unchecked and had finally started to be weeded. “He has many friends, many who agree to his twisted ideals. And mark my words, I will find them.”

There was a substantial pause, no one spoke or moved and perhaps barely dared to breathe.“This is not a call for a witch hunt. In this time, more than ever, we need to come together. Two years ago boys who had been corrupted by these men were killed for their deeds against their brothers. It will be the same now. I will find who sides with these traitors and I will kill them. I will purge our Order of this infestation of pain and suffering. These men… men like _Azrael_ ,” and Malik was perhaps the only one who heard the soft tone of pain in his voice bringing up the old Grandmaster, “who would turn us to chaos will be brought to justice. You have my word, I will kill this hydra and stop any new heads from coming forth anew.”

Altair paused and took a breath, Malik could only imagine what a trial this was for him. Altair did not do well with speaking to groups or in them. To address the entire Order like this must be taking a toll on him. “Many things will change, my brothers,” he said. “To our novices, old and the new, I promise you this; no harm will come to you within our walls. Outside there is death and war and broken families and bad mothers and worse fathers. Within there is the Order and we protect our own. You are our future, the next generation of us. You will never be hurt without reason, you will never suffer the danger of death if we cannot avoid it. No one shall go hungry, and none shall want of the things that all men want.We are all in this together, from the oldest Dai, to our youngest novice.” 

Altair’s eyes scanned the courtyard, his head turning to look at everyone, and up to the windows. Not a single head looked away and Malik smiled.

Altair looked down at Abbas’ head and put his hand on his matted hair, “These men are the past, brothers,” he said. “They have lied to us enough. They have manipulated us enough. They have done _enough_ harm to our Brotherhood. So know now. If you associate with this man, or have ever spoken at length of seeing me dead: I will find you, and your head will join these men here. Azrael was a man the Order could not tolerate in order to survive, and neither will it tolerate men who hold onto his old ideals,” Altair’s hand fisted Abbas’ hair. “We are the future, where everything is permitted and our legacy lasts long beyond our deaths,” he released Abbas and walked into the fortress without another word.

The courtyard erupted into talk at once. Men spoke in nearly excited tones, some curious. Most though were happy. None doubted why Altair had killed those men or that they were indeed traitorous.

Malik followed after Altair, but few seemed to notice him. He felt some eyes on him but none that were hostile. He walked up to Altair’s room. There were no guards there at the moment but Malik knew they’d come. He went into Altair’s room and locked the door. The main room was empty, not even the cats were around, and the entire place smelled unlived in from the time they’d been gone.

Malik went to Altair’s room and peered inside. Altair was there, lying on the bed on his back, his black robe and hood cast to the ground, his boots kicked off. The cats were laid all around the bed with him, Sawsan next to his head. When Malik entered Altair rolled onto his side, facing away from Malik. Malik closed the door behind him quietly and picked up the robe and hood and hung them up. He went over to the bed slowly and Kadar meowed at him as he knelt on the mattress.

He leaned over Altair, the man had his eyes closed and was not looking at Malik. Malik leaned down and said into Altair’s ear, “You were magnificent.” A stiffness loosened in Altair’s body at that. “Do you know what you did?” he asked gently.

Altair opened his eyes and looked at Malik, “I saved us. Again,” Altair said.

Malik smiled, “Yes, you did,” and he kissed Altair gently, Altair twisted his head around to accept them. “You were very clever,” Malik praised him. He’d been wondering himself how to pass off Abbas’ death as just. Altair had done so elegantly. At the end of the Threshing he’d brought it back to the thing everyone was thinking or worrying about; the novices. It fit neatly against their own agenda sure, but it was also true. Though perhaps Altair had laid it on a bit thick. But then the Assassins weren’t always the smartest characters.

“I did good?” Altair asked him in a quiet voice when Malik pulled back.

Malik smiled, “No,” Malik said, “you did fantastic,” and now Altair smiled. All the tension that had been building in his shoulders over the past days had leeched from his body now. Altair licked his lips and his eyes strayed to Malik’s. He grinned and kissed his Grandmaster again sweetly, gently, savoring the entire thing. Altair grabbed the front of his robes, keeping him close. Only once Malik lay down next to him, disrupting the cats around them to find new positions, did Altair release his tight grip on them.

“What now?” Malik asked, laying in bed and looking at Altair.

“The Threshing is over,” Altair said, “and I have made a promise. I will kill everyone who ever associated with Abbas and have their heads join the ones in our courtyard,” his voice never went dangerous, it was more like he was telling Malik a secret, his voice soft and personal. “And then I have more ideas for what to do with our Order.”

“Like what?” Malik asked, also speaking like they were trading secrets like two novices talking after curfew.

Altair shook his head, “It is too far off yet. I need to work things out still,” he wriggled over to Malik a bit more.

“You’ll tell me though?”

“Yes,” Altair nodded, “Once I get it figured out, I’ll tell you,” he promised and wrapped an arm around Malik’s waist. Malik let Altair kiss him again and draw him up flush to him.

There was a knock on the front door and someone called ‘Masters?’ Malik pulled away to answer it but Altair pulled him back. “We’re not here,” Altair said softly.

“Altair-

“Just this once,” Altair said and for the first time Malik saw how fragile Altair suddenly was. He’d just demonized a man who had once been his friend and a man he’d called his father at the same time promising to kill anyone who would follow them, which could be dozens of men. “Just once. We’re not here for them.”

Malik relaxed. “Just once,” Malik said and ran his hand through Altair’s hair, “Tomorrow we have many things to put back to order though,” Altair nodded. There was another knock but neither of them answered it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that reviews are appreciated for all the time I put into this


	25. Mountain Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update will make some people very happy. They have been very patient. Thank you for being patient with me, and knowing that good comes to those who wait. The B4M people could learn a lot from you

When Malik woke he was alone. He groaned a bit, tiredly, and rolled over and then up into a sitting position rubbing his face and eyes with his hand. Altair was nowhere to be seen, and there wasn’t a cat in sight. “Altair?” he called, no answer.

Grumbling he got out of bed and went to check the front room. All he found was the line of empty cat bowls and a tray of half eaten breakfast. Malik was slow on the uptake and it took him to going over and putting his hand against the swell of the tea pot and feel it was cold that he realized how late it was. He went to the window and looked out, the sun was halfway to its peak and Malik was amazed. He hadn’t slept in this late since he’d lived in Jerusalem and could do so, or days it had been difficult to get out of bed in the morning from his grief.

He opened the front door and stuck his head out, Christopher wasn’t there, and Jari was already on watch. “Jari,” he said and the man jumped a little startled.

“Ah, master,” he said, turning to him.

“What time is it?”

“Uh, I believe it is nine,” he said, “I start watch at seven and I’ve been here a while,” he said. “Why?”

“I slept in,” Malik said, sounding very surprise.

“Yes, the Master told us to not disturb you,” he said and shrugged.

“Hmm,” and Malik retreated back into the room only realizing when he’d closed the door that he probably shouldn’t have shown himself like that. Jari didn’t seem to think anything of it. He was sure that Jari and Ehan would be more curious if he left _his_ room in the morning, rather than Altair’s. 

Malik didn’t dwell on it and went to go bathe and change and get himself ready. He was sure Altair had a good reason for this. Once dressed he picked at some of the breakfast before heading downstairs to the desk. It was empty and didn’t look like it’d been used all day. Malik turned, where was Altair? In fact, where were the guards up here? Where was Kamal? He’d seen a few Assassins on his way here, but no one important, no one he needed to see. 

Looking out through the window painted the same picture. There were just the normal training going on in the courtyard. He went down to the first floor to one of the guards, “Where is Al Mualim?” he asked one.

“Sir, I believe he’s in the library.”

“The library?”

“Yes, sir. I saw him headed that way some time ago with his scribe,” he said.

“Thank you, as you were,” and they nodded as he left them. Malik climbed back up the stairs and headed for the library. His eyes widened at the display presented to him.

The library was full. Utterly _full_ of children, all in their ill fitting, initiates whites. Once boys were old enough, ready to start their real training, they were given the grays of their novice study and would wear them until they were given whites again as a full Assassin. All the boys were sitting in the library and Malik realized someone was talking and when he focused he realized it was Rauf. Sitting beside him was Altair, his hood (surprisingly) was down, and he looked calm, but not blank. Sitting to Altair’s other side was Kamal at one of the library tables, his pen and notebook out, jotting down notes.

Malik was ignored when he approached a bit, but Altair noticed him. Malik made a motion and Altair got up from his chair with a slight ‘excuse me’ and walked behind Rauf over to Malik. Malik pulled him away from the scene and into the stacks so they wouldn’t interrupt Rauf’s talk.

“You have your hood down,” Malik said and reached up, tugging on Altair’s loose hood around his neck.

“Its less frightening to children,” Altair said and Malik had been expecting some responses, even none, but he wasn’t expecting _that._

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

Altair motioned to the initiates, “The instructors and I are speaking with the new students. You missed the others.”

“About what?” Malik asked, it had only been a day since the end of the Threshing and he felt like he’d been flipped end over end.

“About what is to be expected of them, and what they can expect now that they’re here. It won’t be like before,” he said, “change needs to start at our children, not at our old men.”

Malik’s mouth went thin a moment, “You grow wiser every day Altair,” he said. Altair smiled a little, “Still a bloody thirsty idiot, but wiser,” and Altair chuckled.

“I want to make the job of running the Order easier for you,” Altair said and grabbed the hem chest of Malik’s black robe. “You deserve it.”

“Damn right I do,” Malik grunted.

“Grand Master?” Rauf suddenly called.

“Come,” and Altair brought Malik to where Rauf was standing.

“Ah, there you are, and the Grand Dai as well,” Rauf said. “Boys,” he directed his words to the initiates now, “This is your Grand Dai. Much like the Grand Master he makes sure you’re cared for and that our way of life can continue,” he looked back at them. “Did you have anything to add Al Mualim?” he asked Altair.

“Yes,” Altair said, “If any of you ever think you are being unfairly punished, or if your older brothers are bullying you, you can tell us. Bullying is not acceptable in the Brotherhood, we are family. Kamal,” and Kamal’s head jerked up like it was attached to a puppet’s string.

“Sir?” he asked.

“If you’re wary of us, you can tell Kamal. He’s a novice, just like you, and has been through all your trials, and then some,” Malik saw Kamal lick his lips nervously, wondering how much Altair would tell. “You don’t have to be afraid here,” he said, “no matter what any novice or instructor or Assassin may tell you, you do not have to be afraid, or afraid to tell us what is wrong. We’ll fix it. That’s all,” and he looked over at Rauf.

“Grand Dai?” Rauf asked him. Malik shook his head, he wasn’t prepared and he didn’t think he could pull something pertinent out of thin air. “All right,” Rauf nodded, “Thank you,” he smiled a bit behind his mask, his eyes narrowing.

“We’ll take our leave then,” Altair said and motioned sharply to Kamal who had already packed up his things. “Safety and peace,” he said and Malik followed him out, Kamal trailed behind them.

Altair pulled his hood back up as they left the library.

“Malik,” Kamal said as they walked, “are you hungry? I left breakfast behind but I didn’t know what-”

“I’m fine,” Malik assured him. “I need you to find Haytham though,” he said.

“Of course,” and he peeled away from them and went to find their spy.

“What is your angle here?” Malik asked Altair.

“What happened to Kamal can _never_ happen again,” Altair growled. “Its _disgusting_ and I won’t allow it,” and Malik felt like it was a shot at him as well, he stopped walking. “Malik?” he asked, looking over his shoulder when he realized Malik was no longer walking beside him. Malik frowned at him. “Malik what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What?” Altair asked, confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Altair looked up and down the hall, there was no one around though, they were taking a long way around to the desk, as Altair was prone to do, wanting to stay out of sight of most people, even his own men, unless he couldn’t help it. He stepped back to him, “Why? Did you do something?”

“You-“ he almost called Altair several different names, but none of them were right for his level of sudden frustration with Altair. “Do you not remember?” Altair just cocked his head at him. He was going to make Malik say it and Malik didn’t even know if Altair knew what Malik was talking about or if he was being an asshole. Both were plausible scenarios. “That night… in Jerusalem.”

Altair’s face suddenly went blank and Malik swallowed, “We both hurt each other a great deal then,” Altair said in a cool, emotionless tone, “I try not to dwell on it,” and with that he turned and walked away.

Malik grabbed him by the hand, “Wait, wait,” he said.

“Malik-

“You have to know, I regret it, right?” Malik asked.

“I told you-

“But you _know_?”

Altair’s eyes looked over Malik’s face, “I know,” he said and then stepped back over to him, well within arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” he said a third time, “I’ve never… said that,” he said.

“It wasn’t needed,” Altair said.

“Yes it was you idiot. I- I-

Altair cocked his head at Malik, “Can’t say it?”

“You’re right,” he said, “Its disgusting. So I can’t,” Malik said and felt wretched. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Altair leaned over and kissed him, “You’ve already been forgiven,” he said.

“I’m barely better than Abdul Wahid,” he said miserably.

“No,” Altair said, “you learned from your mistake, just like I have. That boy would have never learned. And now he’s dead,” Malik nodded slowly, still feeling terrible for what he’d done to Altair those years ago. He just lowered his head a bit, but Altair didn’t move, and just lightly grasped the hem of Malik’s sleeve lightly. They didn’t say anything, both caught up in their own heads.

Altair might have forgiven him, but Malik still didn’t know if he’d ever forgive _himself_. Solomon’s Temple was only partially Altair’s fault, the rest was on Malik. He should have just run when Altair had been thrown through the barrier. His misguided desire to do what Altair had failed at had cost his brother his life, and his arm. But Altair had done nothing to warrant what Malik had done to him.

“You think they’re going to kiss?”

Malik and Altair jumped apart and looked at who was speaking. Kamal and Haytham laughed at them. “What?” Malik blurted out, “How long have you two been there?” he hadn’t even heard them!

“Long enough,” Haytham said with a grin.

“And _excuse me_ , why would you say that?” Malik demanded.

Kamal looked at Haytham a moment, something unspoken said between them. “Well… it isn’t like its out of the question,” Kamal said, and shrugged.

“What?” Malik asked and felt himself go pale.

“It isn’t like we haven’t noticed,” Kamal said, “there’s only one bed in Altair’s quarters,” Malik’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

“You wanted to see me, Grand Dai?” Haytham asked.

“Hold on we aren’t just skipping over this,” Malik said firmly.

“Why not?” Haytham asked, “I mean, it isn’t like it matters,” and Malik didn’t know how to reply to that, “Or the first time I’ve seen something like this.”

“What?” Altair asked now.

“There are no women in the fortress, so what’s a man to do?” Haytham asked with a shrug. “But you wanted to see me?” he continued as though he hadn’t just questioned the sexuality of the entire fortress, or his grandmasters in less than five minutes.

“Yes,” Malik said slowly. “About Abbas men.”

“They don’t know what to do. Since Abbas left during the Threshing Marcus and I have been butting heads over who will hold his place while he’s gone.”

“And who’s winning?”

“I am, for now,” Haytham said, “Altair’s display the other day has them scared, and worried. Some clearly didn’t know the full plan, some have left the group and have told me; quite venomously actually, to never talk to them again. They don’t want to be associated with me anymore since I was so close to Abbas.”

“We need to kill Marcus,” Altair said.

“Yes,” Haytham said. “First though I need to ensure that I take control of Abbas men. Once I do I can dissolve it, especially if you kill Marcus. How you will though, I have no idea. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, doesn’t make trouble, and follows the Creed to the letter.”

“We’re holding a tournament,” Malik said, “to celebrate a successful Threshing. Marcus should participate.”

“He won’t,” Haytham said, “he doesn’t show off. He’s like the anti Altair, has no desire to flaunt his skills,” Altair made a noise like an annoyed growl. “You won’t be able to get him to agree unless forced.”

“Then we will,” Malik said, “We will ‘randomly’ select members of our Order who we feel deserve recognition to fight. Does he have any enemies?”

“Me,” Haytham said, “he’s threatened to kill me, or Raafe, several times. He knows I want to kill him. Also one of the Masters Abbas managed to convince. He doesn’t liked Abbas, but now that Abbas is dead, he’s shown his disdain for Marcus clearly.”

“What does he think of me?” Altair asked.

“He thinks you’re not as terrible as Abbas claims, but perhaps not the best,” Haytham said.

“Would he be willing to talk?”

“Yes,” Haytham nodded, “Abbas promised him something to come to his side. Abbas is dead now, and he knows his days will be numbered if he stays within the circle.”

“What of Abbas’ attack dog?” Malik asked.

“He’s with me,” Haytham said, “he won’t stray, he’s weak willed and stupid, and he knows I’m in charge now that Abbas is gone.”

“Good, keep him close, but let him live, our main objective will be Marcus,” Malik said, Haytham nodded. “What is the name of the Master?”

“Mika ibn Minhaj,” he said.

“Tell him we wish to talk.”

“I will. He’s been more… erratic since the Threshing started. He seemed extremely worried about something, though what, I don’t know.”

“Tell him we’ll talk, and he might get to kill Marcus.”

Haytham smiled a little, “He’ll like that. Is that all, Grand Dai?”

“About this, yes. I wish to speak with you later about Raafe’s training. But the morning is already half over and there is still so much paperwork to do,” he sighed.

“Of course. I’ll come see you before dinner,” Haytham bowed and then turned on his heel and walked off.

Malik turned a sudden, sharp, eye, on Kamal, “Nothing to say for yourself?” he asked.

Kamal opened, his mouth, closed it, then said, “I want to kiss Rakkim but he doesn’t like boys.”

Malik looked at him, sighed, and then turned, “I’m not dealing with this right now,” and walked off. He heard Altair talking to Kamal but he wasn’t listening. He needed to focus on something else, and Marcus offered a perfect distraction.

He walked down to the desk and took out all the slips and papers he needed to deal with the contracts that needed to be sorted. He worked in silence, numbing himself to what his brain was distracting itself from with the task. He looked up when Altair joined him.

“He’s a very smart kid,” Altair said.

“What?”

“He’s known for over a year,” Altair said, steeping his fingers. Malik squeezed his pen tightly and he heard it strain a bit.

“You don’t seem to care,” Malik said.

“He isn’t the first person to figure it out,” he said.

“What?” Malik _squeaked_ and then cleared his throat, “What?” he asked again.

Altair turned and looked at him, “Rauf knew,” he said, “The entire time.” And Malik stared at him and then some of the looks Rauf gave him suddenly made sense. “He knew before I even did.”

“What?”

“We talked about it before-“ Altair paused, knowing that even though some people knew and didn’t mind, that they couldn’t just stop being careful. There was a mosque in their fortress, they couldn’t take unnecessary risks. “Remember when we named Kadar and the girls?” he asked. Malik nodded. “We spoke then and he beat it into my head a bit,” Altair shrugged and pressed his thigh against Malik’s. “He knew before we did.”

“Rauf is too smart for his own good,” and Altair chuckled a little.

“We have to assume that Jari and Ehan know,” Altair continued, “and possibly Munahid if someone like Haytham knew.”

“Munahid is even more distant than Haytham,” Malik said, “It is doubtful.”

“Christopher probably does. Or, they must _assume_ ,” Altair leaned over, “Kamal is right, there is only one bed in my room,” and for some reason Malik flushed. Not that they _did_ anything but sleep in the same bed together. Malik couldn’t bring himself to attempt to touch Altair like he had the first, and only, time. Well they kissed, and were near each other. But that was it. “And our men aren’t that stupid,” he leaned back after having invaded Malik’s space.

Malik rubbed his eyes, “There isn’t anything we can do about them knowing,” he sighed. “But we should keep the knowledge from spreading.”

“Why?”

“Why? Altair must I remind you what _happens_ when stuff like this comes out?”

“In normal society, yes. But… this is the Brotherhood, Malik. We do not abide by the rules of society. If we did we’d lay down our swords and take up the mantel of imam. It… could be safe here. Kamal is not the only one-

“What?” Malik asked sharply.

“Kamal isn’t the only one. Haytham was correct. We’re all we have, and there are only so many doves in the garden. And they are…” he trailed off when someone approached the table.

“Masters,” the master Assassin bowed.

“Who are you?” Malik asked.

“Mika ibn Minhaj,” said the man, straightening. “Our mutual friend said you wished to speak with me?”

Malik sighed and grumbled to himself. He was _never_ going to get his work done today at this rate. “Yes,” Altair said. “Though not here. We wish to discuss matters with you in private.”

Mika swallowed, wary, “Of course, Al Mualim,” he said, “Where should I go?”

“Our quarters,” Altair said and jotted a brief missive. “Show the guard this, he’ll let you into Malik’s rooms. We’ll be along shortly,” Altair handed Mika the slip, he took it, nodded, and walked away.

Malik rubbed his head, “Everything moves too quickly,” he sighed, “I can barely keep up.”

“Such is our life,” Altair said. “But as I was saying. The doves can only do so much. But they are so… distant.”

Malik sighed again, “I know. But I didn’t think our men would… would do that.”

“We did,” Altair said, “Fell right into it like a pair of lodestones,” he pressed his thigh against Malik’s once more. “And now here we are, at the Grandmaster’s desk, together.”

And yet you’re still insufferable,” Malik told him and Altair chuckled. “We need to speak with Mika don’t we?”

“Yes,” Altair nodded.

Malik sighed, “I’m not getting any paperwork done today am I?”

“Perhaps not. You were clever in giving the task of coordinating the tournament to one of Munahid’s clerks,” and Altair reached across the table and gathered up Malik’s papers into a pile.

“And we’re going to have to have a talk with your scribe, our guards, and that Master Instructor of ours,” Malik said.

“About what?” Altair asked.

“What do you think?”

“I suppose.”

“Does Kamal know if they know?”

“He didn’t tell me. But then, I didn’t ask either,” Altair shrugged and got up, taking the papers and putting them into their lock box. Malik got up again.

“After we speak to Mika I am finishing this work,” Malik said firmly.

“Of course,” Altair said, locking the box and following Malik from their desk and up towards their rooms. “Do you regret it?” Altair asked him as they climbed the stairs to their quarters.

“Regret what?” Malik asked.

“Us?”

Malik gave Altair a shrew look, “Only when you annoy me,” he complained and Altair chuckled. “Or keep things from me and thus frustrate me to no end,” Malik complained.

“I only do so to take some of the burden,” Altair said, “I tell you when you need to know. I didn’t tell you what I was going to do with those heads, and it turned out fine. You forced my hand on our dealing with the Threshing which made you angry because it seemed like I didn’t have my thoughts together.”

“Which you didn’t-

“Because I had to reveal it before I was ready,” Altair interrupted. They were at the landing where their rooms were. Jari nodded them. “Trust me a little,” and he went to Malik’s door and opened it.

Mika was sitting on the chair in the sitting room and stood when they came in. Mika was an older man, perhaps in his forties and he wore his hood down and his hair as short as Altair’s. His eyes were brown and his skin was nearly African in darkness. “Grandmaster, Grand Dai,” he bowed.

“Master Mika,” Malik said as Altair closed the door. “Tell us, what do you know of our common friend?”

“I know that he dislikes Marcus as much as I, and that you can help me.”

“Do you know of his relationship with us?”

Mika hesitated, “He is your spy?” he asked.

“That he is,” Malik said, “What will you do with that information?”

“I want your help,” he said, “so Haytham’s true allegiances mean nothing now that Abbas is dead.”

“And yet you willingly followed Abbas,” Malik said. “That makes you a traitor.”

“And deserving of your head next to his,” Altair’s voice was dark and hard.

Mika steadied himself, “I did what I needed to do, at the time. It was join Abbas or…

“Or?” Malik prompted him.

“It’s about my children,” Mika said.

“Children?” Altair asked.

“Yes,” Mika said, “I joined Abbas because he-

“Now is _not_ the time for hesitation Mika. If you want us to help you, you must help us.”

“Allah blessed my wife and I with twins,” he said, “They both are novices, as they’re supposed to be and…”

“And?” Malik prompted. Mika’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Out with it man,” Malik snapped.

“I don’t have two sons,” Mika said and there was a sudden, heavy, silence.

“Excuse me?” Malik asked.

Mika took a deep breath, “I have a son, and a daughter,” he said, “they’re coming into their ages now. Abbas found out and-

“A _woman_ is in our halls?” Malik interrupted him.

“Well what would should I have done?” Mika snapped back, “Let her marry an Assassin who could murder her while she slept because he awoke from a nightmare fearing dead men? Or one of the half wits from the villages who would love to bed an Assassins daughter as a conquest? My daughter does not deserve that. So I did what I had to to make sure she would be protected and if a man ever touched her she’d be able to defend herself! I just…” he suddenly lost all his heat, “I just didn’t want my daughter to become a _thing_ for a man,” he said, “I’ve seen the doves. I couldn’t let that become her.”

“This is a Brotherhood Mika, we do not-

“What is her name?” Altair asked, his voice was soft, but it cut over Malik’s.

“Dhiya,” Mika said when Malik did not move to interrupt him, “Her name is Dhiya.”

“Do you love her?”

“More than anything, which is why I put her through this trial. So she would not become a thing, as so many women in this world become.”

“What was Abbas going to do to your daughter?”

“Reveal her,” he said, “He promised me, if I joined him, he wouldn’t. So I did. I might not find you the best Mentor, Altair, but I would kill you before I let something happen to her.”

“You dare-

“Malik,” Altair cut over him again and Malik stopped, though scowled at him. “No harm will come to your daughter,” he said, “And she may continue her training.”

“Altair-

Altair raised his hand to him, silencing him for a third time, “The world is changing, Malik, the Order must do so in turn. Nothing good will come from us being mired in the past simply because of tradition. I give you my word, should any harm come to your daughter while she is in my care, Mika, I will deal with it personally.”

“You will?” Mika asked, floored and amazed.

“But you must swear, now, that you will obey, and you will never turn against me. You will always, and forever, be my sword to command.”

“I swear,” Mika said and got down on one knee. “I am yours,” he said, “My sword and my body are yours to command so long as I live, if you keep my daughter protected, and secret.”

“I will,” Altair said, “stand,” Mika hopped back up to his feet. “I command your sword now. I need it to be true, and bloody.”

“A mission?”

“Not quite,” Altair said.

“We need you to kill Marcus,” Malik said.

Mika barked a laugh, “A task I gladly do, Masters,” he said, “Say the world and my sword will sing and his head will leave his body. You can put it up with the rest of those traitors.”

“We cannot,” Malik said, “Not obviously. There is a tournament, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Mika nodded. “You will enter and we’ll make sure you face Marcus. When you do; kill him.”

“And make it look like an accident?” Mika asked.

“Yes,” Malik said, “If you must wound him so greatly that he must go to the hospital that is another option. We can ensure he never recovers from his wounds.”

“I can do that. I will _gladly_ do that.”

“Who else knows about your daughter?” Altair asked him.

“You, myself, my wife and children, Haytham, and Marcus,” he said.

“Marcus knows?”

“Yes, its why I hate him. He told me if I stayed with him he wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t… touch her,” and his rage was real and abrupt. “But brother cannot raise their sword against brother.”

“To do so without our say would just reveal her,” Malik said, Mika nodded. “And this is why we don’t allow girls into the Order,” he said firmly.

“We don’t allow cripples or the blind,” Altair said lowly, “And yet we brought one of each home. That is all Mika. Prepare for the tournament, and try not to enjoy yourself too much.”

Mika bowed, “Thank you, Al Mualim. Safety and peace, Masters,” and he left.

Malik waited until the door was closed, “What is the _matter_ with you?” Malik nearly yelled when he was sure Mika was away. “A _woman_ in our fortress, have you lost your senses?”

“No,” Altair said.

“A _girl_ Altair. A little girl amid our novices. One who will have breasts and will bleed and… you’re just going to let her continue to live there.”

“No,” Altair said.

“No? Then what is your plan? Hmm?”

“She will never be like us,” he said, “women do not fight like men. They never will. They aren’t built like us but they are not as weak as you give claim. Robert’s decoy was a woman, the one I fought at the regent’s funeral. She fought well, but I still beat her.”

“And is she dead?” Malik asked hotly.

“No,” Altair said after a moment, “I let her go. She wasn’t my target.”

“Hmp,” Malik said. “She is an anomaly, a Templar anomaly.” Altair looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t, “Well, out with it Altair.”

“I knew another woman who could fight. She was not like the Templar woman,” he said.

“Yes? Who was she, hmm?”

“Her name was Adha,” he said after a long pause where Malik was sure he wouldn’t answer. “You remind me of her sometimes-

“I’m not a-

“Strong willed, fiery, passionate, a good handle with a knife, proud and clever and knows how to make me tongue tied and feel stupid,” and Malik felt a sudden, intense, flash of jealousy he hadn’t expected.

“Was?” Malik asked.

“I haven’t seen her, or heard from her in nearly three years,” he said. “I fear she may be dead,” he frowned. Malik’s jealousy fizzled and he felt all at once incredibly petty. He was jealous of a woman who was dead. A woman Altair had cared for. He should be glad Altair had been able to make a connection with _someone_ , regardless of gender. Still, knowing that Altair could have openly had feelings for her irritated him and not this covert affair they had. “But she didn’t fight like us. I think… she might do well for Haytham’s next.”

Malik’s mouth went tight, “So you really are letting a woman into our ranks.”

“She is already in our ranks, Malik,” Altair said. “And as I told Mika; she is under my protection now,” and then he tapped Malik’s chest, “That includes protection from you.”

“You say such a thing.”

“I know you don’t like it. I don’t care,” he said flatly. “I am Grandmaster, you are my Grand Dai, but I still outrank you. Dhiya will continue training until she and her age mates become specialized. She may become Haytham’s next, she may become a taker of hits, she may become a clerk. But she will _get a chance_. Understand?”

Malik blinked at him, “I didn’t know you could be so assertive with me,” Malik said glibly.

“When I must be,” he said.

“I understand,” Malik said, “Now, we _really_ need to go finish our work so we don’t fall behind and it is almost noon.”

Altair chuckled, “Yes, Malik,” he said, “of course.”

“And we still need to speak with those who know… about us,” he motioned between them, “And figure what we’re going to do about this.” Altair said nothing, “Right?”

“I just thought of something that would make the Greeks angry,” and Altair had a devious little smirk on his lips.

“Oh? Which is?”

“We accept it? What better companion for men like us than someone just like us?”

“Altair-

“Don’t even use religion Malik. That excuse is boring and exhausting. Also if we really did abide by the Quran or the Bible, or the Torah we wouldn’t keep drink in the fortress, or hash, or pick up a sword. The Book says God wants his children to be at peace. But what is he doing to help them along? Words? A few men who claim they hear his voice? Don’t use such a tired excuse on me, Allah is a lie, and the words in those Books just as much. So find a better reason.”

Malik opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had nothing to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a hypocrite or a bigot. After all he _kissed_ Altair, and slept in his bed. Altair wasn’t perfect, but then neither was Malik, but he was Malik’s. Just the _thought_ of them with someone else was enough to drive a spike of jealousy through his ribs. He was attached, terribly so. And he liked it, he _wanted_ this attachment, to feel like he was meaningful to someone when he’d been robbed of his ability and agency when he lost his arm.

“I can’t think of one,” Malik said.

“Exactly.”

“So what do you suggest we do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Altair said. “I’ll think of something. But you’re right, we should talk to them, and try and find out who amid our Order is like this. Kamal does, and he’s just a boy.”

“Well maybe if we’re letting girls into our Order now they’ll find other interests,” he teased.

Altair smiled a bit thinly, “They may,” he grabbed the collar of Malik’s robe and tugged him forward, “Or they might have exactly what they want,” and Altair kissed him. It was nice and they were secluded and away from prying eyes so Malik indulged, kissing him back deeply. Malik cupped the back of Altair’s head and Altair pressed against him, his mouth warm and giving.

Only once he was sure he’d left Altair breathless and a bit flustered did Malik release him. Altair’s eyes were wide and bright, nearly that golden color, and his mouth red, his breathing a bit labored. Malik enjoyed the sight of him like that and kissed him against, gentler this time. “I could do this all day,” Altair murmured.

“I’m sure you could, _habibi_ ,” Malik grinned. “But, we do have work to do.”

Altair groaned, “Right,” he said.

“Come along Altair, lets get this done before lunch so we aren’t behind and you have to do _more_ work than usual tomorrow.”

“Uuuhg,” Altair groaned again and followed Malik dutifully out of his quarters and back down to their desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things to do to wrap up this arc, and the tourney draws closer. Need to wrap up this hydra, the Greeks, and now… this mess I got myself into.


	26. Dreamland Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let no one ever tell you, or don't you ever think for a moment, that I've forgotten about Lily.

It was a hot day for a tournament, even for late fall. But there were large clouds that cast the fortress and the courtyard into shadow from time to time. Though two chairs had been set up for Malik and Altair to watch the tournament only Malik was sitting in them. Altair was with the men who’d be fighting today. Altair’s seat was occupied by Sawsan instead, lounging on the seat of the chair, watching with her intelligent amber eyes. The Order was on the ground surrounding the tournament field, which had been built to the side of the fortress, with both sitting and standing room, looking at the tournament ring.

Munahid was the master of the ceremony today. A large sign had been put up to the side of the ring listing everyone who’d be fighting today. He was standing in the middle of the ring, his hood down while everyone was getting ready. Malik already knew how most of it would go. 

Marcus and a dozen other men had been ‘randomly selected’ to fight in the tournament. All of the men who might fight Marcus today had been told that they were to lose, but do so convincingly. There had been some angry voices to that but Altair had none of it and when told them it was how it was they’d grudgingly said they’d throw their match with Marcus should they fight him. Malik had also set it up that Jase, who’d been eager to participate, would be against less skilled opponents so he’d do fine until nearer the semi finals. Depending on how well Jase did Malik had told Munahid to tell men to throw matches. The end goal was to have Altair pummel Jase. Because both he and Altair were so _sick_ of the Greeks acting so high and mighty. They acted like they were the best, but of them only Jase had wanted to fight in the tourney.

Malik already knew how it was going to end, he was barely paying attention to Munahid calling forward the first matches of the day. Two journeymen novices. Their fight wasn’t particularly interesting so Malik let himself look for Altair in the crowd of men waiting to fight.

Altair wore none of the armor most of the other men wore. He’d opted to go into the ring in nothing but a short sleeved shirt, even forgoing his hood and didn’t even wear a belt to hold his scabbard. He just held it in his hand. But instead of looking vulnerable, it made him look intimidating. Like most Assassins Altair had _huge_ arms and shoulders from climbing and sword fighting and martial arts. Inside a set of robes it was easy to forget that though. With free arms everyone could see how big Altair’s arms were. His muscles were unassuming but his shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. And he had nearly no scars. Even Malik had at least a half dozen cuts and blemishes on his remaining arm. Came with the trade of being a swordsman. Altair’s arms had _maybe_ half a dozen little scars between the both of them. Not that he didn’t get hit now and then but it was so rare that any scars he did have were pale and faded, or extremely small to the point they weren’t noticeable.

It was all for intimidation. Altair’s shaved head and face, his bare arms, no armor at all, no weapon’s harness, no hood. He could feel the air from where he was sitting that the men were nervous with Altair standing, arms folded, by the fence, legs planted shoulder width apart, watching the fight. They were wary of their Grandmaster. Malik smiled a bit to himself. Yes, his Altair did cut an intimidating figure amid so many dangerous and intimidating men.

When Malik looked back at the ring he saw he’d missed two fights. Though they were against journeymen so he hadn’t missed much. Those watching clapped and cheered for the young men who saw themselves out of the ring. 

The fights went on into the late morning. By then the adults were allowed to fight and it was actually worth watching. The crowd had grown since then too. Novices fighting was entertaining but nothing like watching an Assassin fight. The only matches Malik cared about were Marcus’ and Jase’s match.

Jase’s match was an easy win for him. He was vastly more skilled than his opponent and destroyed them with a bit of neat footwork and a few smacks with his sword.

Marcus’ fight came two matches later. Malik watched with more interest now. He’d never seen the man before and was surprised with how unassuming he was. His brown hair was short and he had an average looking face. There was nothing interesting about Marcus in the slightest. He was a perfect Assassin. He literally could just melt into any crowd and never be found since he looked just like any other man in the crowd. Marcus even wore his beard in a longer style like men in Syria did and not short like the men of Masyaf. Malik recognized him for what he was: a hunter. He’d made himself invisible both inside and outside of Masyaf since even Malik would be hard pressed to pick Marcus out of a crowd of men even knowing he was an Assassin.

Marcus walked easily into the ring and then turned and looked right at Malik. Malik smiled at him. Marcus smiled back and unlike when he locked eyes with Abbas there was no hostile air to Marcus. If anything he seemed like a man Malik could talk to candidly. Such a shame he had to die, he could have made Marcus into something.

Munahid announced the start of the match and Marcus’ opponent drew his sword, though Marcus didn’t. To Malik’s surprise Marcus actually extended both hands, palms up. “I yield,” Marcus said, forfeiting before the match had even really begun. His opponent looked shocked and Malik was trying to figure out what had just happened.

Marcus looked over at him and smiled at him again. Malik felt a chill.

Marcus knew.

Munahid, who’d been as surprised as everyone by Marcus’ forfeit, came to his senses quickly. He had the men leave the ring and the last match of the first round come forward. There was nothing that could be done. They couldn’t force Marcus to engage, doing so would show their hand, and put them at a disadvantage. Forcing it would show Marcus they were afraid of him or at the very least what he represented.

Malik looked at Altair and saw Altair wasn’t looking at the ring anymore. His head was following Marcus as he left the ring and then vanished into the crowd. Then Altair turned and looked across the ring at Malik.

Malik was trying to get a grip on what had just happened. Marcus had _known_. No, he couldn’t have. It was secret.

But if he hadn’t known then what had just happened?

It took Malik till the third match of the second round to realize it. It wasn’t that Marcus had known Malik’s plan. It was that he wasn’t going to play around with Malik’s little game. He didn’t know Malik had planned to kill him today. He’d simply outmaneuvered Malik with a move Malik hadn’t been expecting. Marcus was willing to humiliate himself this time by forfeiting his first match to keep his cards close to his chest. You could learn a lot about a man by the way they fought, especially men like them.

Malik hated to admit it, but he gained a hint of respect for Marcus. Not many could have outmaneuvered Malik so expertly. Not when Malik held all the cards and all the power. The only way to stop an ambush was to just not walk into it. Marcus would be a good match for Malik’s problem solving abilities.

Malik sat back and watched the rest of the matches. At the end of the second round Altair got to fight. There had been an odd number of contestants so Altair had just been placed in the second round.

The crowd watching grew quiet when Altair entered the ring, carrying his scabbard and sword. He wasn’t in his black robes, and wore no armor leaving him as unprotected as a civilian. For anyone else it would have made him look like any weak or foolish man. But when Altair entered the ring like this he looked like a god.

The man he was against entered the ring looking nervous. He joined Altair at the center and Altair beckoned the man closer, they went cautiously. Altair said something to them that onlythey could hear, the Assassin nodded and then Altair stepped back.

“Grandmaster, are you ready?” Munahid asked. Altair simply nodded. “Jalil, are you ready?” Jalil also nodded. “Begin.”

Altair didn’t move, didn’t even draw his weapon, but Jalil attacked with a fury. He swung his sword with all the grace of one of their trained brothers and Altair dodged each time but his eyes were serious. He wasn’t playing with Jalil, he took his attacks seriously, but he wasn’t giving an inch. The crowd was silent, watching the fight. Then all at once the pace changed and like a sandstorm Altair swept towards Jalil and in a single move disarmed him, twisting into his personal space and rendering him powerless. Malik smiled slightly.

Jalil surrendered quickly and Altair released him. “Thank you Al Mualim,” Malik heard Jalil say and bow to Altair. It was then that Malik realized Altair hadn’t drawn his sword.

“You are very skilled,” Altair said, “do not be too upset over your loss,” and then he turned and looked at the crowd and Malik didn’t know what he did but they started to cheer. He walked with Jalil back out of the ring and Malik could see now the look on Altair’s face; he was smiling. Not the cruel smile he wore when he killed. But a kind smile. A jealous flame licked at Malik’s stomach. Normally Altair only smiled at _him_ like that. He squashed the feeling. His face turned red at his own embarrassment for even having the feeling in the first place. 

The fights continued. Jase dominated his opponent easily and Malik knew that none of the men he’d have to face would have to forfeit. Jase was extremely skilled. When Mika went to fight he saw anger in his motions. Malik frowned. He’d been robbed his chance to kill Marcus, his daughter remained in danger. Malik didn’t know what they were going to do about that. They’d have to move quickly on that. Marcus wasn’t stupid, and he was watching. If he’d predicted Malik’s game he’d see the fury in Mika’s sword style. He’d know something had changed and he’d either blackmail Mika more, or he’d reveal Dhiya. Neither were good options.

The fights continued. There were five rounds of fights and the quarterly finals for many Assassins had signed up to fight. Jase had risen through his bracket without a problem, mercilessly destroying his opponents with a lightning fast xiphos made of Damascus steel. His style was unlike the others fighting so it made him hard to predict, and it didn’t help that he moved constantly and knew how to dodge. Mika was the other brutal quarter finalist, with his longer arms and sword he had tremendous reach. His anger pummeled the other fighters into the ground. Altair had made it into the final four effortlessly it seemed. He’d drawn his sword the last two matches, but they always ended quickly. He let his opponents come at him and then once he saw a hole he was like like a cobra strike, deadly the first time. The last quarter finalist was, surprisingly, Bo. Malik had never given the Chinaman much thought when he’d entered the tournament, since he’d said himself he was more of a monk. He hadn’t expected Bo’s chaotic movements or how he used his long sashes to distract his opponents. He fought in a circular motion, always getting behind them, and used a fair deal more acrobatics than the others. Bo by far had had to fight the hardest to earn his spot in the quarter finals since it was clear he wasn’t as skilled as the others. But the shock of his fighting style had done in most of his opponents.

Malik was looking forward to the last three fights.

Somehow, like luck, Bo and Jase were paired off. The two foreigners. He wondered if Munahid had told Bo to throw the match. What would Bo have said if he’d been asked? Though a win by Bo would have been favorable too, since the Greeks were so xenophobic. It’d be a spit in their eye. Look at what those from outside of Greece can produce. Without your rules or training or close minded thinking about how an Assassin had to be.

Malik leaned forward in his chair a bit as their fight started. Bo bowed to Jase when they paired off and Jase inclined his shoulders, they both drew their sword. Jase had his leaf bladed xiphos and Bo a strange sword he said was called a khanda he’d picked up from their brothers in India. It was basically a large, oversized, meat cleaver and it was just one of the weapons Bo had brought with him and learned to wield on his journey from China to Masyaf. Munahid stood between them, “Bo, are you ready?” he asked. Bo nodded, “Jase?” was all he needed since Jase couldn’t understand the Arabic anyway. Munahid stepped back to the edge of the ring. “Begin!”

As usual Jase attacked first, slashing with his xiphos. Bo didn’t bother to block, he just got out of the way. That was how Bo fought, he just moved out of the way of the strike which eventually started to annoy his opponent and they’d make mistakes and he’d capitalize on the situation.

Jase struck Malik as someone who got frustrated easily. He was good at fighting and when he started just _missing_ his opponent and could do nothing about it he was likely to start making those mistakes Bo was looking for. Or maybe he wouldn’t and Bo would overextend. Malik could see how exhausted Bo was from his bouts and even given a rest between each he was slowing down. Especially as Jase kept pushing forward without sign of stopping.

It became a game of who’d make a mistake first. Jase by becoming sloppy with irritation of Bo dancing away from him, or Bo being too tired and slow to respond. Malik just hoped if Bo slowed too much that Jase had enough restraint to hold his sword from murder.

After practically chasing Bo around the ring Malik finally saw how it’d end up. Bo was too worn to continue this dance and faced Jase properly with his cleaver-sword. The sudden turn around surprised Jase and when his sword met sword instead of air Bo nearly disarmed him simply because Jase hadn’t been putting as much effort into his swings as he would normally. His grip on the hilt was too loose and there was a short cry amid the crowd when Bo actually flipped the sword out of Jase’s hand. Before it could fly away from him Jase snatched it back right out of the air and grabbed it in both hands, going on a real offensive now that Bo had decided to fight him.

They fought and it was the sound of striking steel, Bo blocking each attack. He was being pushed back and didn’t have the stamina or energy to evade anymore like an Assassin, especially one like him, would do. It was a pure sword fight and neither men moved in a way that was expected.

The lasted about a minute longer before it was over and Jase charged Bo. He flung Bo’s arm out wide and punched him in the solar plexus. Bo dropped to his knees like a stone, coughing and trying to gasp for breath. He dropped his sword and Jase calmly stood over him and put the widest part of his sword against Bo’s neck. The Chinaman was still gasping and looked up at Jase in defeat.

Munahid came forward and announced Jase the winner to an already cheering crowd. Jase then sheathed his weapon and offered Bo a hand. Bo grabbed it and Jase hauled him to his feet. Bo had his hand on his chest as if to assist in his breathing and was helped to the sidelines where he could sit and get his breath back and get over the pain of just being punched in such a painful place.

Malik smiled to himself a bit. Bo hadn’t been told to throw the fight. He was glad about that. That had made the fight interesting.

Then the next fight was being brought up. The furious Mika with his naked sword, and Altair the Grandmaster who still only held his sword in its scabbard. Munahid announced them and reminded them the rules. Altair beckoned Mika to him and the Master approached. What Altair said to Mika no one could hear but the man nodded gravely and yanked his hood up seriously. They stepped away from each other.

“Altair, are you ready?” Munahid asked. Altair looked at Munahid, Mika, then back at Munahid, he nodded. “Mika, are you ready?” Mika nodded stiffly and they both sank into a ready position. To Malik’s surprise Altair mirrored Mika’s stance.

“Show off,” Malik said to himself.

“Begin!” Munahid retreated quickly.

Mika moved like a viper but where his sword was Altair was nowhere near. He’d been serious with the rest of his men but he’d never moved as fast as now. Malik wondered if Altair hadn’t told Mike to come at him like he wanted to kill. That made him a bit nervous and he hoped Altair knew what he was doing. Mika was acting like he wanted nothing more than to sink his sword into Altair’s flesh. 

Altair stayed out of the way, moving like smoke amid lightning. Mika wasn’t holding back on any strike either. If he connected with Altair on any swing Altair would be seriously injured, even die.

Then, after a short time, Malik saw it. Altair started to smile. It was an oddly joyful thing. He’d never smiled with his other fights. This fight was different. Malik frowned seeing Altair smile now. He’d only known Altair to smile like this just before a slaughter. He smiled like this when he was about to soak his blade in blood. Malik started to worry.

Altair dodged another sword swing and finally drew his sword. The crowd gasped when Altair literally threw his sword away, towards Mika but out of either of their range. Mika gave Altair a strange look and hesitated in his next move. Altair looked like he’d gone crazy to just throw his sword away against a man who wanted to _kill him_. Malik leaned forward in his seat.

In that moment that Mika hesitated Altair was on him. He literally leapt at Mika feet first, covering the distance between them in an instant. He landed on Mika and they both tumbled to the ground. They rolled and popped up to their feet. Mika was now a bit more scuffed and dirty than before but Altair hadn’t even gotten dirt on his tunic. Altair was still smiling. Altair’s sword now lay between the two of them, glinting slightly in the sunlight. Mika looked at the sword at the ground then at Altair. Altair made no move to go for his fallen sword, instead he just made a ‘come’ motion with one hand. He’d defeat Mika without a weapon. It was ballsy and should be impossible.

Mika attacked and it was literally over in seconds. It was so fast Malik had barely seen what Altair had done. He’d let Mika nearly kill him, but he’d closed the distance between Mika and himself, getting inside his long reach and disarmed him in an instant. He’d hit his arm at the wrist and the inner elbow, causing his fingers to loose their grip. Then he’d slid around Mika’s back, yanked his legs out from under him and shoved him to his knees. All of that happened _and_ Altair had somehow managed to grab his own sword from the ground and stood behind Mika. Altair’s hand was in Mika’s hair, yanking his head back. He had his sword against Mika’s exposed throat.

The watching crowd was silent for a second, unsure of just _what_ had happened for it had happened so quickly. Then someone cheered and then the rest of the fortress cheered.

Altair was still smiling, but it wasn’t so mad now. He released Mika’s hair and stepped away from him. He picked his scabbard up out of the dirt and put his sword into it.

Munahid was slow on the uptake to come out and announce Altair a winner. He was barely heard over the din. For himself Altair just bowed humbly towards his men, hands out to them. It reminded Malik of the day he’d taken the black. Then he turned to Mika and offered him a hand up. Mika hesitated and it was so slight Malik nearly missed it. Altair had said something, barely moving his lips. Mika refused the helping hand and shoved himself to his feet and stormed off, as furious as he’d come onto the ring.

Altair stayed where he was. Kamal entered the ring to give him some water. He drank and then spit onto the dirt before handing it back to his scribe. Jase came onto the field once Kamal was gone. Munahid made sure Altair didn’t need a rest and they started the next match.

“The final round of today’s tournament starts now,” Munahid called and everyone got a bit quieter to hear him. “We have the Greco Assassin, Jase Zabat,” Munahid extended his arm to Jase. The crowd clapped and cheered. “And we have Grandmaster Altair al-Umar ibn La’Ahad, savior of Masyaf!” he had to end at a yell because the cheering drowned him out to nothing. Malik smiled and sat back in his chair. Munahid had a good flair for theatrics if nothing else. “The rules are as they’ve been. First man to be disarmed loses. First man to yield also loses. If you are knocked unconscious you have to five counts to regain consciousness or you will lose. Do not aim to kill or you will be disqualified.” That last fight had overlooked that last rule. Mika had wanted Altair dead when they’d fought and had been aiming to kill.

“Do you understand the rules?” they both nodded. “Grandmaster, are you ready?”

Altair smiled at Jase, it was a strange smile. “I am,” he said.

“Jase?” Munahid asked. Jase said something in greek. “On my word,” Munahid backed up some. Altair was still mirroring his opponent and Jase didn’t ready himself. “Begin.”

Neither of them moved. A moment passed and Jase looked to the crowd. Malik followed his gaze and found the other Greek Assassins. His father looked especially intense. This was Jase’s chance to prove his worth in front of everyone. Prove himself to his father, his sect. Could he keep up with the legendary Grandmaster? Could he _beat_ the man? Malik watched Jase carefully.

Jase looked back at Altair and drew his sword. Altair did not draw his. There was no tension in him to fight. Instead he calmly closed the distance between himself and Altair. The crowd was quiet, watching with baited breath as Jase took a knee in front of Altair. He then offered Altair his xiphos across his palms. If Altair was surprised by the display he didn’t show it. “I surrender,” Jase said in very bad Arabic but like he’d been practicing very hard to say this specific string of words. “To raise my sword to the Mentor is to raise it against the Order. I refuse. I surrender.”

Altair looked down at him and then took the xiphos delicatly from his hands. Malik looked at Jase’s father. Colin looked _furious_. “Humility is not a skill many of our men learn,” Altair said, so everyone could hear him. “It is a difficult skill to learn, to be humble, to remember you are not the best. The best of us learn this and it isn’t a lesson we quickly forget. Those who do go on to be our best swords, or our most important players. They go on to be Master.” Everyone was watching intently and Malik could practically see Jase holding his breath. Malik wondered how much Arabic Jase had actually _learned_ in the past few weeks he’d been here, if he was able to follow a bit what Altair was saying.

“I realize this is probably going to be unorthodox, but then what part of my Mentorship has been?” he asked his men and there was some scattered laughter. “ _Everyone has seen you fight today, Jase,_ ” he switched into Latin. “ _No one doubts your skill. But it is this, your humility to know when is the time to surrender, to know your_ place _in this Order, that grants you this. Your father brought you here to show my men up. He wanted me to make you a Master. I wasn’t going to.”_ Malik’s eyes traveled all around the crowd, resting on their brothers that were following what Altair was saying. “ _I’ve changed my mind_.” Altair’s smile was as close to pleasant as he’d allow in public. 

“Brothers,” Altair called. “I think it would be unfair of me to win every competition of sword play we have,” more scattered laughter. He offered Jase his xiphos hilt first and Jase took it like he was in a dream. “Which is why I forfeit myself so that _Master_ Jase Zabat of the Levantine Order of Assassins may win this day.” 

Altair grabbed Jase by the arm and hauled him to his feet to the cheering of the other Assassins. Jase looked like he was in a daze. Altair looked _incredibly_ satisfied with himself.

Malik leaned back in the chair, processing what he’d just seen. Then he gave a helpless little laugh and started to clap a bit. Unexpected but so had been Jase’s surrender. Altair had taken what might have been a ploy by the Greeks and turned it into something for _them_. Elegant. Jase looked at Altair and his gaze was worshipful. Malik wondered how many times Colin, who led the Greco Assassins, had told Jase he was good enough to be a Master, but never gave it to him. Then he’d told him that Altair, the Mentor, would do it. He’d probably set himself up for disappointment from Altair, just like from his father. Altair was kinder than that. At the very least he knew how to manipulate a man’s heart. Jase was his now and Colin would probably have to rip him from Altair’s hands if he wanted to take his son home with him.

“I hate when he does that,” he said to Sawsan. The cat looked over at him alertly. “When he just does something wonderful and clever,” and make Malik’s plans all fall apart. He didn’t mind, not really, and they hadn’t had time to discuss it. He’d just made the best move possible given his situation.

The cheering subsided and Altair walked Jase out of the ring. They were instantly surrounded by Assassins coming to congratulate Jase. Malik watched Altair slip away and come up to where Malik was sitting. Sawsan got on the arm of the chair so he could sit on his own seat. He practically fell into it.

“How was that?” Altair asked.

“If only we were in private right now,” Malik said.

“Ah,” Altair smiled at him, the smile he had only for Malik that made his stomach do a funny thing.

“You did good. Colin is furious, Jase loves you. What did you say to Mika then?”

“I told him to kill me. Marcus needs to think Mika is still with him or he’ll talk and if our brothers learn the reveal before I do… We are not kind,” he frowned.

“That is why I said it was a bad idea to keep on with that novice.”

Altair looked him in the eye, “They will stay a novice. Even if I have to move them into the room next to Kamal’s. They will stay.”

Malik made a face at him, “Very well. Less talk of backstab. This should be a joyful time. We have a new Master Assassin. Isn’t that usually followed by a grand dinner?”

“Ah. Yes. Navid is going to hate me,” Altair motioned and out of nowhere Kamal appeared. “Go tell the head cook that he have a new Master and dinner should be prepared accordingly for his new status.”

“Yes, Master,” and Kamal fled.

“He needs a proper ceremony,” Malik said.

“Yes. He will have one. A Levantine one. Heh. Colin will be so mad,” he smiled a little.

“Good. Maybe he’ll have a heart attack and keel over.”

Altair barked a short laugh, “If only. One less headache in our lives eh?”

“Indeed.”

They were quiet and watched their men. Jase was at the center. Everyone wanted to pat his back or offer encouraging words. Jase’s face was about to split right in two he was smiling so wide and joyfully. After a few minutes Altair stood. “I’ve had enough. I will be upstairs if you need me,” and he left, Sawsan trailing behind him. Malik stayed a bit longer before following Altair back into the fortress and left their Jase to celebrate his victory and promotion alone with the entire fortress.

 


	27. Wallichianum Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For people not in the know yet this year I have a new update schedule for fics. You can find it in a post on my writing blog shotgunsandstars.tumblr.com
> 
> TL:DR, Lily will be updating now the last week of every month. Kinda late this month cause of work related bullshit >_

There was a loud and insistent knocking that roused Malik from his slumber. “Grand Dai, Grand Dai, wake up. Allah, both of you wake up,” he heard Kamal calling through the door.Next to him Altair sat up and then looked down at him. Malik squinted at him. It was hardly morning, the sun still new in the sky and the morning shadows were long. “Grand Dai,” Kamal called again, sounding a bit desperate but had enough restraint to not just open the door and come into their room.

“We’re awake,” Altair called. The knocking stopped abruptly.

“Its urgent. Please, I have news,” Kamal said.

“It better be,” Malik grumbled and rolled out of bed. Sawsan crawled into the spot he’d just occupied as Malik grabbed an over-robe and pulled it on. Not his black work robe but one he’d taken to wearing after a day at work. It was the color of warm red sandstone and smelled like Altair. He was sure it’d belonged to Altair at one point after he’d become Grandmaster and had a whole new wardrobe made for him but at some point in the past years it’d become Malik’s. He closed the big buttons one handed and went to get the door.

When he opened the door he was surprised to see Kamal wasn’t in his uniform. He was just in his normal clothes, all of them dark grey but better made than a normal novice’s which saw many owners before they were finally thrown out. He looked like he’d just come out of bed. If Kamal showed himself in such a state, not even his hood on, it was something. “What is it?” Malik asked, his sharp tone easing seeing Kamal was in obvious distress.

“One of Zaki’s runners just came to my rooms,” Kamal said quickly and Malik didn’t have time to ponder why _Zaki_ would have runners. “The Greeks are planning on coming up to see the Grandmaster before breakfast. They’re apparently _not_ happy.”

“Now?” Malik asked.

“I told Christopher to stand at the top of the stairs. We heard their voices a few flights down and that was a few minutes ago. He’s not letting anyone up but-

Malik blinked at him, “But I can’t be in here,” he said obviously. Kamal nodded quickly. No, Malik certainly couldn’t. He had no excuse good enough to explain to outsiders why he was in the Grandmaster’s rooms so early in the morning in a robe with designs of a Grandmaster’s robe on them. He never thought he’d be happy someone knew about his and Altair’s more intimate relationship but right now he did.

Kamal grabbed his hand, “We have to go, right now,” and before Malik could protest Kamal dragged him away from the open door to the front door. He opened it a tiny bit and peered outside. Malik could hear Christopher’s voice patiently telling the Greeks to fuck off in much nicer terms than Malik would have managed to do. Kamal eased the door open and Malik stuck his head out. No one could see him from here so he quickly went around to his room and went in, closing the door quietly behind him. Kamal darted into his own room across the hall from Altair’s, closing the doors gently so none were the wiser.

Malik’s suite was unlived in. He hardly ever came here honestly except to get dressed in the morning and even then he had clothes in Altair’s room now. It was foreign and alien to him in the way the Grandmaster’s suit had looked shortly after Azrael had just been killed and it still looked like the old man lived there. He went to his bedroom and changed his clothes, realizing with a jolt that his Grand Dai robes were _not_ in here. They were in Altair’s rooms. He didn’t even have a spare one in his rooms. Why would he? He was never here!

He dressed in his best looking normal clothes regardless and waited. He heard Christopher finally let the Greeks past and them banging on Altair’s door.

Malik took that opportunity to step out of his room. Only the older men were there, Ciro, Laius, and Otis. Colin and Jase were both absent and Malik was keenly aware of those things. Altair opened his door a moment after Malik. “ _Master Ciro,_ ” Altair said in Latin. “ _What do I owe the pleasure_?”

“ _We must talk. Now,”_ Ciro said with barely contained fury in his old brittle bones.

“ _Now? Perhaps after breakfast?”_

 _“Do not take me for a_ fool _young man. We will have words now.”_

 _“If I took you for a fool Ciro, you would certainly know it,_ ” Altair said glibly. Ciro fumed and Laius and Otis glared. “ _Fine. Come_ ,” and Altair opened the door for them. He nodded at Malik and Malik followed after them.

“ _This is not an open discussion_ ,” Ciro said, looking at Malik in disdain. “ _I have only words for the Mentor_.”

“ _The Mentorship is two-pronged,_ ” Altair said in easy confidence. “ _Grandmaster and Grand Dai sharing power and responsibility. If you wish to speak with me of something you may speak to him as well, we are one in these matters. If you see problem with this then we have nothing to discuss.”_

Ciro continued to fume. “ _You made me a_ fool _in front of my own son._ ”

“ _It is not my fault you did not make him Master when you had the chance_ ,” Altair said calmly. _“He is a very skilled young man and deserving of the title. I cannot say the same for all the Masters in my Order_.” It was a slight against the three of them and they all knew it. Malik sat down behind Altair, just watching in quiet amusement. Altair did not like being disrespected, or being challenged. He also did not like people disturbing him in his rooms, especially not before breakfast. He would dismantle these three old men. _“Perhaps you should treasure your son_ more _as we do in Syria, old man_ ,” and Malik had never hear such a chill in Altair’s voice.

For a moment he wondered if Altair was projecting Azrael onto Ciro. The old man who’d taken him in and raised him like a son and then failed him in every way. Sounded a lot like Jase and Ciro.

_“You do not get to lecture me about my son, young man. You are hardly older than he! You could be my son.”_

_“Thankfully I am not. I would have taken my name out of free will if you were_ ,” and it was a hard hit. Altair wore Son of None like armor, deflecting and shielding him from hurtful questions of his father, his forefathers even. He was a man of no family, disowning himself from whatever family Umar had been. The Greeks didn’t understand the subtle insult Altair had just bestowed them, not knowing how family names were passed down or that ibn La’Ahad was anything but a surname like any other.

_“And you have the gall to claim yourself Mentor when you say such disrespectful things to us. We are Masters-_

_“Is this interrogation quite over?_ ” Altair asked boredly. _“I have other things to do than listen to your complaints about Jase’s accession to Master. Like breakfast, and attending to my duties in ensuring the Brotherhood is maintained.”_

 _“Show some respect, boy. You may be Mentor but you are still young,”_ Otis said.

 _“And you are old and will die soon,”_ Altair said without remorse. “ _I do not have time, respect, or patience for old men who think too highly of themselves. Azrael acted much the same, and I killed him.”_

_“You threaten us?”_

_“I simply state what happened. Nothing more, nothing less. Now are we done? Or do I need you removed? Christopher there is very upset you’re here_ ,” he nodded at the big Christian man standing in the doorway, taking up the entire space. The Greeks looked at Christopher in dislike and Christopher rose his head slightly in contempt at them.

“ _You are out of line, and out of control, Altair,_ ” Laius said bitterly. “ _No Mentor should ever speak to his men as such.”_

 _“I speak how I please. If you do not like it, depose me_ ,” he challenged. “ _You will have no friends left in Masyaf if you do.”_

The old men looked between each other. Malik saw guilt in them. They’d spoken with Abbas before his death and had probably been in talks with Marcus, or maybe Haytham. _“You are sure_?” Ciro asked.

 _“Do not mistake me for a_ fool _Ciro,_ ” Altair said. “ _I know_ ,” and it was a threat. Ciro’s olive complexion went pale. _“I meant what I said after the Threshing_ ,” he said simply. The old men swallowed. “ _Now begone. I haven’t the time for your pettiness or your complaints. Jase is a Master now, as he has obviously deserved for a long while and been denied by his own father. There is nothing more to discuss._ Christopher, please escort the Masters to their rooms and ensure their attendants get them all to breakfast.”

“Of course, Grandmaster,” Christopher said and walked over to the Greeks. He was huge next to them but was surprisingly delicate when he shepherded them out of Altair’s suite.

“Christopher,” Malik called before the man closed the door, “Send Kamal in.” Christopher nodded and left the door open. The novice slid inside and closed the door quietly.

“It go okay?” Kamal asked.

“How does one politely throw out unwanted guests?” Altair asked them at large.

“Erm,” Kamal frowned.

“You don’t. It is rude, Altair.”

“I aim to be,” Altair said meanly. “What a bunch of petty, aggravating, old men. Ahg, Jase should give his thanks to me I freed him of his father’s spinelessness,” he paced a bit, agitated. “Perhaps if they hate me enough they’ll just leave out of spite.”

“One can only hope,” Malik said. “Now calm down, we still have things to do today.”

“I am aware. But I don’t feel like being _calm_ , Malik,” Altair growled.

“Too bad.”

“Uh… shall I fetch breakfast?” Kamal asked awkwardly.

“Yes,” Malik said, mainly so Kamal would leave. The novice nodded and left. Malik got up and went to Altair, grabbing him by the front of his robes roughly. “Be still,” he said firmly. “Your pissyness gets us nowhere.”

“I think I am well within-

“Enough,” Malik said. He gave Altair a light shake. “That is _quite_ enough for this morning. Go get dressed, we have work to do and men to interview for the position of Jerusalem Dai. I need you there with me and I cannot have you acting like a child in front of them with your temper tantrum.”

Altair’s face went smooth and stoney. “Fine,” he said and Malik released him. Altair went into their room and Malik sighed after him once he was gone. What a troublesome man he was sometimes.

Kamal returned before Altair had, carrying breakfast and tea. He set it on the table and made breakfast for the cats once he handed important missives to Malik. Malik made tea and sat to read them. Saladin was moving his men about, they were still fighting the crusaders. One note was from Acre, Templars wary of Assassin silence for the past two years. A message from Diyari said that Saladin’s son was growing paranoid of the silence as well. During Azrael’s tenure the Assassins had been very active and took their own contracts to fulfill their own desires and increase their gains across the Holy Lands. The royals and upper class were _used_ to being potential hits for Assassins if they became too radical in ways the Assassins didn’t like as few were safe from the blade. Of course Azrael picked and chose his royal or political targets on a whim it seemed, so Assassin ideology was not well known. He had doctors killed just as soon as corrupt traders. The fact that the Assassins had just been very quietly existing for the past two years, only taking contracts from people without personal political motivation was starting to _worry_ people.

What were the Assassins doing in their hidden fortress? What terrible act would they bring about next? When would the next regent _die_? All the big players either knew or heard rumors of their existence, and after what had happened in Jerusalem during the funeral two years ago apparently guards didn’t even bother _stopping_ men dressed in white anymore. Scared of the Assassin demon who’d slaughtered dozens and walked away unscathed two years ago. Of course that just meant crime was on the rise in Jerusalem as thieves, muggers, and murderers, learned that if they wore a white robe they wouldn’t be stopped.

Malik leaned back in thought and Altair came out of his room. He was scrubbed clean and dressed, his black hood hanging over his face and casting his face into deep shadow. “Much better,” Malik said approvingly.

“And you?” Altair asked, coming over to him. All the hair on the back of Malik’s neck stood on end when Altair ran his hand through his messy black hair in a shockingly intimate gesture he only did when they were alone. Malik batted his hand away sharply. “What?” Altair asked. Malik gave him a look. Altair looked over at Kamal, “He doesn’t care,” he scoffed.

“Its the principle of the thing,” Malik growled at him.

“You are not dressed in your blacks,” Altair ignored his glare and helped himself to several thick slices of cucumbers he dipped in humus topped with a mixture of nuts and spicy oils. “You do not have a spare set in your room?”

Malik hated his face heated right up, especially because Kamal was _right there_. Though the novice had enough sense to not be looking or paying attention to them. He was pretending to be engrossed in Sawsan and her children. Malik knew Kamal too well though, especially now that he knew Kamal knew of their affair he knew the boy didn’t miss much. Altair gave him a teasing smile and it took more strength than Malik was aware he’d need to not punch Altair in his smug face.

Instead he just stood up and yanked Altair’s hood down roughly to cover his face. That made Altair cry out and flail a little. Malik walked past him smugly right to their room. It’d do him no good to pretend completely in front of Kamal. Obviously Altair didn’t plan on it.

Malik undressed and washed himself a bit, scrubbing at his face, privates and feet before dressing again, this time in the black robes of his office. He was laying on the bed to correctly tie the drawstring of his pants, which he found easiest lying down so he could get a more snug fit, when the door opened. “I told Kamal to go get breakfast and meet us down at the desk- Do you want help?” Altair asked.

“No,” Malik said stubbornly as he finished the knot. He remembered when doing this had been impossible. As it was most of his pants were now just incredibly well fitted but he owned some that had a drawstring still. He was good at the one handed knot now. Not that he really had a choice in the matter. It was learn to do things one handed or not do them.

Altair came into the room as Malik was standing and Malik made a noise of protest when Altair undid the knot. “You can ask for help you know,” he said patiently. “I don’t think you any lesser of you if you need me sometimes.” He retied the string tighter than Malik had managed in half the time. It was a stupid thing to be envious of but Malik just missed his left hand! “It is the least I can do.”

“I do not need help,” Malik said stubbornly.

“No, of course not, _habibi_ ,” Altair said and leaned over to kiss him briefly. “I’ll see you downstairs. Have breakfast before you join me,” and then he was gone.

Malik stood there a few seconds. How did he do that? How did he go from tantrum throwing child to being one of the most charming men Malik knew? He had no idea. Malik did his best to keep his thoughts _relatively_ pure when it came to Altair. He knew he’d never ever _ever_ instigate anything with his young Grandmaster but that didn’t mean he didn’t _feel_ things. Horribly confusing, conflicting, things. Not disgust or dislike just… _confusion_.

Was he even supposed to feel this way? He reacted well enough to Altair, he was an easy man to please so long as you weren’t pissing him off, but he wasn’t sure he was even doing it right. Men and women had it easy, their relationships were _expected_. But two men? How did he even do that? Kissing he was fine with, sleeping in the same bed he was also fine with. But he was a man and though he told himself over and over and over again that he would never touch Altair the way he had that night in Jerusalem to the point he often didn’t think about it he still… thought about it.

Allah he was a man in his mid twenties, good looking in a good position with fame, infamy, and money. Women would throw themselves at his feet for him to pay attention to them. They wouldn’t even care he was a cripple. He hadn’t had sex since before the events in Solomon’s Temple, three years ago and though he told himself he didn’t care. He did. Even a man like Malik had needs but how did he even go about that? Altair was a man and Malik had no idea what to do with that since to be with someone else, even one of the doves, made Malik feel like an adulator.

Most of the time he just, ignored it. Or used his hand, though he was often too busy or tired after the day to even bother. But then Altair would get close, say something sweet or charming and Malik would become all undone and he’d be reminded his age and most men his age should be more sexually active than a hermit. Not… _this_. Whatever this even was.

“You’re an idiot,” Malik told himself with a sigh and left the room, stopping briefly to pick at their breakfast and washing it all down with some still steaming slightly tea. It helped distract him and he glanced at the important messages again. Right, he had quite enough to worry about today without involving his libido. It had gotten him into quite _enough_ trouble since he’d been a young man, not even with Altair. He grinned at the memory of sneaking into one of the brothels in Damascus with two of his friends and then being chased out by an angry guard for banging the girls without paying.

Breakfast eaten he headed out and found Altair downstairs at their desk. Kamal wasn’t there yet and Altair had Sawsan on his lap, stroking her head adoringly. Malik went and sat next to him. “I think she’s with kittens again,” Altair said without prompting.

“How do you know?”

“She fought with Kadar and Seif over some food and ate theirs as well as her own. She’s just like any pregnant lady, hmm?” he ended as a question more to her and scratched her under the chin. She purred loudly. Malik just stared at Altair in disbelief. How could such a dangerous man be so pure? Malik really did hate him. “And she’s heavier than usual,” he picked her up under the armpits, stretching her upwards, her white feet resting on his thighs. She meowed at Altair and Malik thought he would meow back. He didn’t, though not without consideration of if Malik would stare at him for it.

“Well she isn’t very far along at any rate,” Malik said.

“No,” Altair agreed, and he smiled. He was happy Sawsan would have kittens again. Just what Malik needed, _more_ cats in Altair’s suite. Kittens soon too, meaning Altair would be useless once they came. How both adorable and completely annoying.

Malik cleared his throat, “Lets do the morning paper work and then we’ll be able to move on to more interesting things,” Malik said.

“Yes, interesting,” Altair said, lowering Sawsan and letting her hop up onto the desk. “If that’s what you call it.”

“I call it important, Altair,” Malik snapped.

“Yes, of course,” Altair nodded a bit. “Now, who are we killing today?” he asked and spread out the messages sent from across Syria of people who were eager to use the Assassins to get even. The contract killing plagued Malik’s mind much less than the shape of Altair’s mouth when he spoke.

What a terrible man.


	28. Dimension Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are such a fucking hot mess with their fucking _feelings_ and _emotions_ and fucking their stupid fucking gay crisises. You’re gay boys (well bi) just deal with it.

Zaki and Abyan were waiting for Malik and Altair at the desk the next morning. Why the two old men would be there Malik had no idea. Zaki held a file case in one hand. The two men were about the same age but Abyan leaned heavily on a cane. He'd fallen since he'd come to Masyaf and had hurt his back. In contrast Zaki stood tall and straight, eyes bright and alert. Honestly the old ex-Dai looked like someone's kind grandfather with smile lines at the corners of his mouth and a gentle voice. Abyan by contrast had looked like he'd lived a hard life full of violence, befitting a man of his age and standing. His eyes were hard and dark and intelligent like a hawk’s eyes were intelligent.

“Gentlemen, what can we do for you?” Malik asked as they came up to the desk. Altair deposited himself right into his chair without acknowledgment. Seif jumped right up into the desk in front of him and turned to look at the old men expectantly.

“There is a matter that must be discussed,” Zaki said. “It's gone unspoken for long enough. Today we must work it through.”

“And what is that?” Malik asked slowly as he took his place next to Altair.

Zaki laid the file case on the desk and opened it. “You must select a new Dai to replace Jawad. It has been weeks and our men there grow worried.” Inside the case were dossiers written by the fortress clerks. This wouldn't be like last time where Malik and Altair just chose almost blindly. This would be a calculated promotion.

Altair leaned forward and picked up one of the dossiers, then another. He scanned them slowly. “We were planning on it,” Malik said. “But you didn't need to go through all this-

“You kept us in the fortress to advise you, Grand Dai. Allow us to advise you,” Abyan cut him off. Malik also accepted it for the slight it was. What good was having older and wiser men to help you if you did not utilize them?

“Very well,” Malik said.

“Kamal, have one of the guards fetch chairs for Zaki and Abyan,” Altair said distractedly. He was looking over the dossiers. Altair read slowly but his actual comprehension was excellent. Best to read and remember than to have to read twice. Kamal went and Malik picked up the papers Altair was done with while they waited.

“You chose these men?” Malik asked Zaki.

“We both did,” Zaki said. “Men who can handle Jerusalem.”

“I highly doubt that,” Altair said mostly to himself.

“They're qualified I assume?” Malik said, the two old men hadn't heard Altair.

“Yes. More than you were young Malik,” Abyan said. Malik’s ears burned a little.

“Yes but Azrael did not care if Malik lived the year or not,” Altair said with the casualness of speaking of the weather. They all turned and looked at Altair, Malik couldn't believe he'd just said that. Altair looked up realizing he was being stared at. “What?”

“Do not say such things like that. All lives matter to the Order,” Abyan said.

“Not to Azrael they did not,” Altair said and looked at Zaki hard. “Not about some things.” Malik looked between the two and Zaki understood the look. Before Malik could bother them about it Kamal returned with two guards and two chairs.

“Set them here,” Malik instructed and the chairs were put down. Zaki and Abyan sat, Abyan much heavier than Zaki. “Thank you, that is all,” Malik said and the guards bowed a little and left them there. By the time they'd finished shuffling around Malik had forgotten what he'd wanted to ask Zaki about and turned his attention to the dossiers. “Are these all men you know?” Malik asked, taking a few of the papers. He was surprised there were so many.

“Most,” Zaki said. “Others we have heard good from our men and instructors.”

“Altair- what are you doing?” Malik asked as Altair took the ones out of Malik’s hands. Altair just gave him a look and Malik rolled his eyes. Fine, he could have them all.

“And they are the best we could find that we feel could handle a city like Jerusalem,” Abyan said. Next to Malik Altair was whispering to Kamal but Malik couldn't hear what they were saying.

“Are they really? Or are they our enemies?” Malik asked.

The old men looked between each other. “A bit of both,” Zaki said with a sly little smile. “It's no secret among our generation you sent Jawad to Jerusalem hoping the city would take care of his dissenting voice against Altair's position as Mentor. And everyone knows Jerusalem is as much a high promotion of alms as it is a punishment.”

“Funny, I did not,” Malik said bitterly.

“For men older than you, Grand Dai. We've been able to keep Dais alive longer in Jerusalem in the past few decades but they still all end up dead or our bureau destroyed within six years. You were only there a year, you didn't have the best chance to see this.”

“Yes, when we were young it was not uncommon for the Jerusalem Dai to be buried every three years. Or less even,” Zaki said.

“These are all old men,” Altair announced. Malik looked at Altair. He'd had Kamal reading the dossiers, faster than he ever could, and telling him what they said.

“Not all-

“They're all over thirty-five. They are old. Unfit,” Altair tossed the stack of papers onto the desk.

“Plenty of our competent Dais are old,” Zaki said, insulted.

“Jerusalem is not Acre. I do not have time or patience to replace a Dai every five years. None of my other districts suffer this way. Neither shall Jerusalem,” Altair said. “I deny all of them.”

“Based on age alone?” Abyan asked. “Even though some are more than qualified for the task?”

“They are not,” Altair said.

“What do you know that makes a good Dai? You are a hunter,” Abyan demanded.

“I have dealt with every single one of them,” Altair said. “Azrael sent me to hunt in every corner of the Holy Land and even in Arabia and Iran. I have met every Dai. Some are better than others, and some are terrible. I probably know more of what makes a good Dai than _you_.”

“We should give them the benefit of the doubt, Altair,” Malik said. “You kept Zaki and Abyan here to advise us. You should listen to them.”

“Advise me how long it would take to train someone from scratch, to be Dai,” Altair said.

“Months,” Zaki said. Abyan looked mildly furious about Altair dismissing them but Zaki had a look in his eye like he'd expected this. Or at the very least had had to go through this once before.

“Then Jerusalem will go without for months,” Altair said.

“You must be joking,” Abyan said. “We must have a bureau in the capital.”

“I will not allow Jerusalem to continue to be a dumping ground for the Mentor’s enemies. Jawad was the last one. We cannot seem to control Jerusalem because we put expendable, inexperianced Dais there, _or_ we put men we do not care for and would rather end up dead anyway. I’ve seen the statistics and the messages from our spies in the holy city. Crime is worse than ever and the streets are quiet in fear. Every quarter is starting to break down, some people even too afraid to leave their homes. No more.”

“Crime is worse because _someone_ killed guards by the dozen two years ago,” Abyan said sarcastically.

“They were in my way,” Altair said with such cold ruthlessness everyone leaned back a little. His change in demeanor changed in an instant though and Altair relaxed somewhat. “Advise me how we should proceed,” he said.

The old men traded looks. “You want someone younger who will handle Jerusalem?” Zaki asked.

“Yes. Someone who will survive Jerusalem,” Altair said as Seif finally got up from where he’d been sitting. The cat stepped right over and into Zaki’s file box. “And thrive.”

“There is no one like that,” Abyan said. “All Dais who go to Jerusalem expect an early death.”

“That isn’t a good answer,” Malik said. “We want a man who will _not_ die.”

“Oh you’re in on this now too, young Malik?” Abyan asked, leaning forward on his cane.

“I was never in disagreement. And Altair is Grandmaster, I do what he wants sometimes,” he smirked a little.

“Heh,” Abyan looked over at Zaki. “Well if this is what you want it will take time.”

“Time we have plenty of,” Altair said. “Jerusalem is not going anywhere.” Out of the corner of Malik’s eye he saw motion down the hallway and glanced up. A guard was preventing someone from getting close though Malik couldn’t see who.

“What of our men stationed there while we train this new man as you want?”Zaki asked.

“Those who wish to may come home, those who wish may stay in Jerusalem and continue to offer their services to us. Ones who stay will continue to be allotted birds to send rapid messages to us,” Altair said.

“And who will be this man?” Abyan challenged. “If you say this you must have someone in mind, hmm?” Altair had no answer for that one. Malik felt Altair looking at him from under his hood. “So you do not.”

“Very well,” Zaki said before Abyan could berate them. “We will compile a new list of candidates who are more satisfactory.” Zaki stood and shooed Seif out of his file box. He collected the dossiers and put them away, closing the box. “Give us a few days, Masters,” Zaki said and motioned to Abyan. Abyan stood like it pained him greatly and leaned heavily on his cane. “We will find someone who will honor the Brotherhood, together.”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea. Thank you Zaki, Abyan,” Malik said.

“Safety and Peace, Mentor, Grand Dai,” Abyan droned out and Altair nodded. The two old men left.

Altair looked at Malik, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Backing my idea.”

“I had similar thinkings honestly,” Malik said. “And we must be united as leadership of the Order. Especially to those two. They knew Azrael and have different ways of thinking than us.” Altair’s lips twitched into almost a smile and he pressed his thigh against Malik’s. “Kamal, go tell the guard to allow whoever is trying to see us through,” he added.

“Yes, sir,” Kamal said, hopping to his feet from his nearly permanent chair pulled up to Altair’s side of the desk and went to speak to the guard. When he came back he was followed by Master Jase Zabat. The young man was full of nervous energy and getting used to his new clothes as much as title. Jase had been _thrilled_ when Altair had given him the special whites Masters wore here in Syria on the night of his promotion. His father not so much.

“Jase,” Malik said and leaned back in his chair comfortably as Kamal went to take his seat again. “ _What can we do for you?”_ His Latin was rusty, but workable.

Jase opened his mouth and no sound came out. They waited. “ _We’re leaving_ ,” he said.

“ _Leaving_?” Altair asked.

_“I— sorry. My father has decided we are leaving. We’ve been away from our Order too long. Its time we went home.”_

_“And when are you leaving?”_

_“Tomorrow, at first light.”_

_“He wasn’t going to inform us so we could see you off_?” Altair asked.

 _“No. He said you insulted him, Master_.”

_“Well your father is easily insulted, that wasn’t hard.”_

Jase’s face scrunched up a bit from holding in a laugh but his lips twisted a bit into a half there smile, his eyes widening. Malik had no problem laughing though. “That was a good one,” Malik told Altair and Altair smiled a bit. “ _We will be sad to see you go, Jase_ ,” he continued in Latin.

“ _Though no one is making you leave_ ,” Altair added.

“ _My father has decided. So we are leaving. I thought it be right for you to know so you did not wake up tomorrow and find us missing.”_

Altair leaned forward a bit, his head tipped back so you could see his amber eyes under the shade of his hood. “ _Do you want to leave_?”

“ _I cannot let them on the road alone. What if something happened to them? But, thank you for the offer_.”

Altair smirked, _“Your father thinks you a greater fool than you are_ ,” he leaned back again. “ _Do not allow the old men in your life to dictate your choices, Jase. But I understand your desire to see them home safely.”_

 _“You are always welcome here in Masyaf,_ ” Malik said. “ _You are a Levantine Master Assassin, though you may call Greece your home.”_

 _“Thank you Master, Grand Dai,_ ” Jase bowed to them both. “ _If I visit again I’ll be sure to learn Arabic properly_ ,” he said with a smile. Malik looked at Altair in surprise when Altair spouted off a phrase in perfect Greek. Jase was equally surprised, so much so that he just stared in stunned disbelief for several moments.

“Oh don’t show off, Altair,” Malik said. Though when and where had Altair learned Greek? It wasn’t a language commonly taught in Masyaf. It was useless really since it was so far away. Hebrew was more common, even English and French or even Latin were more common than Greek. He’d never seen any Greek in Altair’s script. He couldn’t have learned it in the months they’d been here could he have? Malik didn’t think so but he also greatly doubted himself.

Malik was shoved out of the conversation while Altair and Jase had a brief exchange in Greek. Jase looked even more respectful and in love with Altair than he had been before. By the time they were done Jase’s face was split clean in two from smiling. “ _Give our regards to your father_ ,” Altair switched back to Latin.

 _“I will_ ,” Jase said.

“ _If he’s lucky we won’t surprise him in the morning_ ,” Altair chuckled. “ _Now off you go_ ,” he motioned.

 _“Safety and peace Grandmaster, Grand Dai_ ,” Jase bowed once more. Malik echoed him and the young man walked off giddy as a spring foal. Had he been any less constrained Malik suspected he would have _skipped_.

“What did you say to him?” Malik asked Altair.

“Just some words of encouragement,” Altair said and tipped his hood back a little as Seif jumped down onto his lap for petting.

“Where did you learn Greek?”

“Zaki taught me,” Altair said.

“In the time they’ve been here?” Malik demanded.

Altair blinked at Malik as he scratched Seif under the chin. “Of course not. I had him start teaching me and Kamal after I became Grandmaster. There are some books only written in Greek from the Order of old. I wanted to read them.”

“You know Greek too?” he asked Kamal.

“Ah… yes? Not nearly as good as Altair though!” Kamal said quickly. “He’s much better at it than me.”

“You learned Greek in a year and a half?” Malik pressed.

“Yes?” Altair was confused. “Is that a problem?”

Malik just stared at him. “You didn’t tell me? When did you have _time_?”

“I made time,” Altair said simply. “And I don’t tell you everything,” he added. “It was just something I did when I had time.”

“Kamal, _how_ good is his Greek?” he asked the scribe, seeing Altair was greatly underselling his ability.

“Well Jase teased him about his accent but as far as I could tell it was pretty spot on,” Kamal said.

“Why is this a big deal? I just learned Greek,” Altair said, starting to turn defensive and uncomfortable with Malik’s questioning.

“That is… amazing,” Malik said. A thought occurred to him, “How many languages do you know?”

“Fluently?”

“Yes.”

Altair counted on his fingers slowly and had to contend with Seif butting his head against his hand impatiently for more attention. “Nine,” he said at last.

“He writes in fifteen,” Kamal piped up next to him. Altair turned and gave him an annoyed look. Kamal just laughed. “Don’t look so sour, Altair. He looks like he’s in love with you.”

“Kamal,” Altair growled but Kamal just kept smiling. Malik meanwhile was red faced to the point he could feel it on his neck. “We discussed speaking aloud about this.”

“Right right, sorry, Master,” Kamal said and did his best to school his features to get the grin off his face but the corners of his mouth were still tight in holding it down.

Malik cleared his throat. Well, time to get off that topic. “Kamal, fetch me the pigeon missives from this morning,” he ordered.

“Yes, Grand Dai,” Kamal said and got up, the moment he did the smile was back and went to the shelf and lock box for the messages Zaki left every morning.

“I should take him for a hard day of training for that,” Altair grumbled.

“Yes, please,” Malik bit out, staring at the desk. He felt Altair looked at him and glanced at him. “What?”

“He wasn’t wrong- Ow!” Altair cried when Malik grabbed his thigh as hard as he could. He yelled again when his outcry surprised Seif and the cat duh his claws into Altair’s lap.

The guards came running. “Grandmaster, is everything all right?” one asked breathlessly. Malik was out of his chair and gone to the window behind the desk to look out onto the courtyard. His face was burning.

“Yes yes, everything is fine. Just the cat, he scratched me by accident,” Altair said to calm their worry. No one wanted anything to happen to Altair, their hero and Mentor who was doing so much good for the Order now.

“Do you want us to call a doctor?”

“No no, please. I’m fine. Return to your stations,” Altair said. The guards hesitated but did retreat, back to their posts.

Malik stayed at the window. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was embarrassed and that was just as bad. Malik hated being embarrassed because when he was it was _all_ over his face. There was never a secret when Malik was embarrassed. And of what? That learning that Altair was apparently a savant in languages made him even more attractive? More than Kamal would drop the L word around so casually like. Not that Malik didn’t love things. He’d loved his brother, he loved Kamal like a new adoptive brother, he loved Sawsan and her kittens. But Altair? And not just loved Altair but Loved Altair which was altogether more scary and damning than he wanted to think about.

He just didn’t want to deal with the feelings. Doing so meant that there were consequences _for_ those feelings. Things like jealousy, and worry, and god forbid heartache. Not to mention the consequences if anyone found out. To lay with another man was a sin. It got you stoned, murdered, or worse and this was a house of murderers.

Assassins weren’t supposed to be attached. Find a woman and marry her, have children, but they were never before the Order. Sacrifices were to be made you should be willing to give them should they be asked of you. There was no room in a field agent for Love, the kind that made you blind and stupid and reckless. Hardly any room in a Mentor either. It made prioritizing flawed because it prioritized the safety of the Other over the Order, over yourself.

Malik rubbed his face. Everything would have been _fine_ if Kamal had never brought up such a complicated emotion. Malik knew how to handle it with his brother, or with Kamal. It was affection and caring. But otherwise? It made his stomach roll right up into a knot. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to deal with it or have it. He didn’t _want_ to love Altair because of what it meant.

Too bad for him really.

He sighed and looked out the window up at the cloudless sky. It was a perfect winter blue, hard and sharp that promised cold night and temperate days. He didn’t want to be in love. It was sticky and messy and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

But he was.

“Everything all right Malik?” Altair called from the desk.

“Yes,” Malik said.

“I don’t want to do these contracts by myself. You know I hate having to decide.” Malik’s lips twitched. Yes. Altair hated to decide which contract they would take, and who they would send because Altair would take all of them and he’d perform every single one of them himself. “Malik, I’m going to make Kamal do it if you don’t come back over here,” Altair threatened.

“Maybe it will do him good. He already has decided to play games with people’s lives,” Malik said sarcastically.

“Ow,” Kamal whined when Malik heard Altair smack Kamal’s lower arm. “Master that was my writing arm.”

“Go find something useful to do.”

“But I’m your scribe I’m supposed-

“Go, or we have training every day for the rest of the month,” Altair threatened. Kamal left in a hurry after that. Altair got up from the desk as well and walked over to the window to stand next to Malik.

“Your scribe has a big mouth,” Malik grumbled.

“You _insisted_ on him if I recall,” Altair said mildly. Malik looked down when he felt something on his leg and saw Seif rubbing against his boot. “I work with what I’m given.” They said nothing for several minutes, just looking out the window. “We have work to do Malik,” he said.

“I am aware.”

“If we don’t go do it we will have to do it after lunch.”

“You mean _I_ will have to do it after lunch.”

“Same thing,” Altair said and when Malik looked at him he was smirking. Malik certainly did _not_ love Altair. “And we are meeting Mika after lunch, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“We are, since when?”

“I told Ehan to tell Haytham to tell Mika to come see us a few days ago. He’s bringing his sons.”

“He doesn’t have _sons_ Altair.”

“Twin boys,” Altair said, “he truly was blessed, don’t you think?”

“I do not agree with you on this matter. I will not,” Malik said stubbornly.

“You don’t have to. It is the way things are though,” Altair said. “Now come along, we have work that will not wait and since I’ve sent Kamal away you will have to read all the missives to me.” He gently tugged on Malik’s sleeve like a young boy and Malik really did hate him. Especially with that cunning little smile of his.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe. I do like when you read me things,” Altair said tugged at Malik’s sleeve a bit more. A horrible, terrible, awful man. Malik relented and stepped back, following Altair to their desk. Seif padded along behind them and climbed back onto the desk to flop down on Malik’s side, eyes half closed contently.

—

It was after dinner when there was a polite knocking on Altair’s door. “Master, Grand Dai, Master Mika is here to see you,” Jari called through the door.

“Kamal,” Altair said and got up from where he was lounging on the carpet and pillows under the window. Kamal jumped right to his feet and opened the door. He usually stayed for dinner, long enough to hear what plans Altair and Malik had for the next day, take their dirty dishes, and then go find his own dinner. As Kamal opened the door Altair drew his hood up though wore none of his weapons.

“Grandmaster, Grand Dai,” Mika bowed after he entered. Behind him two novices bowed as well. Malik hadn’t risen from where he was relaxing. He didn’t like any part of this and the disrespect of remaining seated let his feelings be known.

“Master Mika,” Altair said in greeting. “Kamal, you may go.”

“Are you do-

“You are dismissed, novice. Go eat and prepare for tomorrow,” Altair said. Kamal nodded, grabbed his notebook and ink and quill and left, closing the door behind him. “This remains between us, Mika,” Altair told the Assassin who seemed a bit less on edge now that Kamal was gone.

“Thank you, Master,” Mika said. “These are my children, Dhiya, and Dawlah,” he said bringing them forward. The novices were cowed when presented before Altair, all dressed in his intimidating black and red robes, his hood up to hide his eyes. Their own hoods were up but their young faces were visible in the light.

“Safety and peace, Grandmaster,” one of them said.

They both started when Mika tugged their hoods off their heads from behind. “I told you to lower your hoods in the presence of your betters,” he growled. They both stood very stiff and straight, now exposed. Their faces were nearly identical, both young and round, with dark brown eyes their hair cut to their scalps. One had a small scar on their eyebrow but other than that it was impossible to tell one was a girl by looking at them.

Altair walked up to them and Malik saw them gulp and do their best not to wilt in front of him. “Who is Dhiya?” he asked.

The twins hesitated. “I am,” the one with the scar on their eyebrow said. “I’m Dhiya.” They were at the age still before puberty and their voices were yet to drop but to Malik there was something off about it.

Altair looked at Mika. “You let your children lie to my face, Mika?” Altair asked.

“Dawlah,” Mika said, “there is no need to protect your brother, the Master knows.”

The one who’d said they were Dhiya looked down, “I am not Dhiya,” he said. The twins still looked terrified. Malik didn’t blame them. Mika must have filled their heads to bursting with all sorts of horrors of what would happen to Dhiya should she be found out to not be a man in truth.

Altair’s eyes moved over to Dhiya who hunched her shoulders. “You are Dhiya,” he said.

“Y-yes, sir,” she said and now that Malik knew she was a girl he could tell the difference in their voices. Hers was much higher.

Altair cocked his head at her a little. “Are you a girl, Dhiya?”

“No sir,” she said as defiantly as she could.

“Are you lying to me?”

“No sir,” she said again.

Altair looked down at her cooly, then up at her father. “This one is Dhiya?” he asked for clarification.

“This one is Dhiya,” Mika said and patted her shoulder.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, sir,” she said.

“A very trying time in a young man’s life,” Altair said calmly. “Are you capable of them?”

“I am as capable as any novice, sir,” she said. “My brother and I are in the upper parts of our class.”

“They work well together,” Mika said quickly. “Instructor Hosaam tells me all the time that they will be an unstoppable pair when they grow up. The types of teams the Order dream of.”

“At least some of our men will know how to work together,” Altair said. “The both of you,” they looked up at him intently. “Tell me, what are you afraid of?”

The twins looked at each other. “We’re not-

“Lie. Do _not_ lie to me,” Altair said with grave seriousness making them both stiffen up again. Malik was sort of enjoying this. Mika looked torn between grim and amusement.

“Uh— we’re kinda afraid of you, sir,” Dawlah said shyly.

“Do you know who else is afraid of me, boys?” he asked.

The twins again traded looks. “Everyone, sir?” Dhiya ventured.

“Correct,” Altair said smugly. “Everyone, and they know not to cross me, or disobey me. They have seen what I do to those who disobey me, or who anger me, and I am not a man easily angered. Do you know what angers me?” Altair leaned down and put his hands on their shoulders. The twins looked like they wanted to just _die_ right there on the spot. “Knowing that your sister is in danger, Dawlah,” he said and the boy swallowed. Dhiya’s face turned red instantly. He looked at the girl pretending to be a boy. A sheep in wolves clothing, pretending to be something she was not.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” she asked, staring at her shoes, eyes wide.

“No. Your father is protecting you, and now, so am I.” Dhiya’s eyes jumped up to Altair’s face in surprise. “I’m sure you two tell your father everything, don’t you?” They nodded. “Good. Keep doing that,” he patted their shoulders and stood back up. The twins relaxed visibly. “You’re both dismissed, return to the novice halls.”

“Yes, sir,” Dawlah said and they bowed and fled, practically running.

“Heh,” Altair chuckled, “they are well behaved. Better than my novice,” he told Mika.

“Thank you, sir,” Mika said.

“She is strong. She will be fine.” Mika breathed a deep sigh of relief. “If anything happens she may come up here to be safe. My guards do not let anyone up those stairs I do not allow.”

“You are too kind, Master,” Mika said.

“I do not make idle talk or promises,” Altair said. “I said when we returned from the Threshing that the novices are our future, and soon you and I will be old men Mika.”

“I dread the day.”

“Do not,” Altair said. “When you are too old to pick up your sword to protect your children they will be doing so for you instead, and themselves.”

“You say this as a man without children, Grandmaster. No disrespect but it is different when they are yours.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Altair agreed. “Nor did I have a father who cared as much for me as you do your boys. Safety and peace, Mika, be at peace knowing she is safe.”

“Thank you, Master,” Mika bowed low, hand on his sword hilt as a sign of devotion before leaving.

“How far will you take this?” Malik asked once Mika was gone. “Girls start puberty early, Altair. She will start getting breasts and her monthly blood. What then?”

“Shut up, Malik,” Altair said, not looking at him.

“This is a real thing you must consider. She is able to stand up with her brother and their class now, but what about in a few years. She won’t be strong enough, or fast enough-

“Enough,” Altair snapped at him. “I will not hear another word on this matter. I meant what I said Malik, I am her protector now. If you disagree _so_ strongly you may spend the night in your own rooms. My bed will be plenty full without you.”

Malik blinked at him in absolute shock. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I tolerate your dissent on some things but on this I will _not_. I am Grandmaster of this Order still and unless she is revealed Dhiya will progress through life as a _boy_.”

Malik lurched to her feet. “And what will you do when she grows breasts and hips and she no longer looks like her brother?” Malik challenged. “What will you do if they attack her?”

“I will protect her.”

“You can’t protect her from everything-

“I can try!”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“And you are acting like a boot,” Altair said. Malik’s face wrinkled at that. That was just uncalled for.

“I am being realistic. I don’t want anything to happen to her either but you must consider that it will. You can’t protect everyone Altair. Especially not a girl in a dorm full of boys.”

“Get out of my room,” Altair said coldly and Malik felt the chill run down his spine. “Jari!” he yelled. Jari had the door open in a moment. Though Malik knew their room guards were too disciplined to listen at their door.

“Master?” Jari asked.

“The Grand Dai is having a fit of hysteria, please escort him to to quarters. Make sure he stays there the night.”

Jari looked from Altair, to Malik, then back again. “You are sure, Grandmaster?” Jari clarified.

“Yes. I believe the day has been trying for Malik and needs a good night’s rest.” Altair hadn’t spoken to Malik like that in years and Malik couldn’t even find his voice.

“Very well,” Jari said uneasily and Malik was still in enough shock to allow Jari to lead him out of the room. “You two okay?” Jari asked once the door was closed.

“Altair is acting like a fool,” Malik said.

“No, I mean, are you two okay,” Jari said again.

Malik squinted at him, “How does everyone know?”

“I’m not blind?”

“That is not helpful Jari,” Malik hissed as Jari led him to his room.

“If it makes you feel better Christopher just asked me and Ehan if he was crazy that you two are… close just recently.”

“Uhg. Return to your post.”

“You’re going to stay in your room tonight?”

“Well not like I have much of a choice when Master Tantrum Throwing banished me to it,” Malik sulked.

“Alright. Goodnight Grand Dai,” and Jari left him.

Malik went into his room and searched for something to light a lamp. He found one and took it into his bedroom. The bedroom felt cold and lonely. Malik sighed and lit two other lamps in the room. There was nothing for it really, he’d just go to sleep. There was nothing to do in his room and Altair wasn’t there to talk to or discuss ideas with, nor were there any cats to play with or any good books to read. Malik undressed and pulled on a sleeping gown before turning off the lamps except for the one by his bedside.

He laid down and stared at the ceiling where the lamp light flickered against the pale ceiling. Altair threw tantrums sometimes and he and Malik even argued and disagreed about things, but this was the first time Altair had ever _done_ anything about it. Just had Malik removed from his presence. And it had been easy too.

Altair had never spoken to him like that before. Argue they might, and sometimes it even came to blows but Altair was never _angry_ at him. How did it come to that? Couldn’t Altair see he was being unreasonable about this girl? She was going to get killed. That or raped and murdered! They already had to deal with one teenage Assassin with rape shock why would Altair subject himself to having to deal with another?

The answer was a slow seep that Malik didn’t want to acknowledge. The old guilt crawled up from the pit of his stomach and flared out across his breast. “He doesn’t hate you,” Malik told himself through grit teeth. Altair was willing to go through such things because he was powerful now. He could protect those beneath him who were powerless to help themselves to a bigger, meaner, enemy who wanted to hurt them. Protect them like Altair hadn’t been.

Malik squeezed his eyes shut. “He forgives you, he doesn’t hate you,” he told his guilt and his doubt.

He opened his eyes and looked at the flickering ceiling for several minutes. Then he licked his finger and snuffed out the lamp’s wick. It was pure darkness for several moments before his eyes adjusted to the night and light filtered in gently from the curtains and blinds. He closed his eyes, this time trying to go to sleep. “He doesn’t hate you, you fool,” he told himself softly. Malik had to believe that, but doubt still needled him. “He can’t,” he whispered. Or rather, Malik didn’t want him to otherwise how could he be in Love with someone who hated him?


	29. Brushmark Lily

It was cold when Malik woke up. Even under his blankets he felt the chill of early winter. The sun was up, he expected Sawsan to have woken him by now. She usually did, wanting to get let out so she could eat. That or she'd wake Altair and that in turn would wake Malik. That didn't happen today. Instead he woke up to an empty room, the shutters and curtains closed tight. There was no lingering spot of Altair warmth on the other side of the bed either.

Malik opened his eyes. Right. He'd slept in his own room that night.

With a sigh Malik rolled over and got out of bed. He dressed in clothes he hadn't worn in months and went out to his living room. A pot of tea and a cup was waiting for him. He tested the side and it was still hot. He poured himself a cup and drank. On the tray his tea was on was a note written in Kamal:’ immaculate penmanship. ‘Breakfast is next door’. Meaning he was allowed next door. Malik wasn't sure if he wanted to go over there though.

His stomach promptly complained. He was going over there. He poured himself another cup of tea first, to wake him up and prepare him for whatever Altair would say to him before he went. He was surprised when Altair wasn't there and it was just Kamal, feeding the cats.

Kamal looked up when Malik opened the door. “Good morning,” he said.

“Where's Altair?” he asked.

“He said he was going to say goodbye to Jase and left before he'd even had breakfast. He said he'd be back though,” Kamal said.

“Did he seem upset to you?” Malik asked, going over to the table.

“No,” Kamal said, confused. “He seemed in a rather good mood. Probably because he was about to ruin someone’s day I think,” Kamal smirked.

“Hmm,” was Malik’s answer and he sat at the table. Kamal got up and handed him the messages that absolutely could not wait. There was only one today. It was about the Crusade and the movement of the invading troops and Saracens. Malik read over it while he had breakfast.

He was finishing when the door opened and Altair walked in, a spring in his step. He seemed in a good mood and even pulled his hood down once the door was closed. Malik did his best not to hunch but Altair didn't seem to notice.

“So the Greeks are gone?” Malik asked.

“Yes. They were so disappointed to see me.” Altair said mischievously.

“Except Jase I'm sure,” Malik said.

“Oh yes. I think one of them soiled themself when I bid them farewell in Greek.”

Malik chuckled, “They will not forget that for a long time I think,” he said.

“Oh no,” Altair agreed as he stuffed breakfast into his mouth. As he did he looked Malik over and Malik did his best not to fidget and squirm like some novice. Easier said than done when Altair was the man looking at you and his amber eyes seemed to go right through you. “Kamal,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Go have breakfast. We'll meet you down at the desk,” he said.

“Yessir,” Kamal said and left them alone.

Malik was very aware of the fact that he and Altair were now alone. He really didn't want to argue with the man again. He really really didn't. So it surprised him when Altair wiped his hands before coming over to Malik and tipping his head back with one hand. “You look like you didn't sleep,” he said.

“I assure you, I did.” Badly, but that was beside the point.

Altair didn't say anything and to Malik's _immense_ relief leaned down and kissed him. There was no hesitation or dislike in the feeling of Altair’s lips and Malik didn't realize how desperately he'd wanted this kiss until it was happening. He grabbed the back of Altair's neck so he couldn't pull away and deepened the kiss. Altair was receptive and kissed him back, bent over awkwardly though he was until Malik just found himself with a lap full of Grandmaster. That was honestly the best outcome he could have hoped for out of this.

When they parted Malik felt less restless and tense. Altair looked fully content, his pupils dilated a bit. “I do not like arguing with you, Malik,” he said.

Malik nearly said something to probably insight another one. That Altair should just listen to him is he didn't want to argue. Of course Malik realized that was unfair. Altair was her own man who thought differently than Malik and had different opinions. If they agreed on everything Altair would be little more than a puppet for Malik’s agenda and Malik knew he didn't want that either. A year ago he might have not held his tongue, because Altair didn't always make the best choices. He held it now though. “Nor I,” he said instead.

He smiled slightly when Altair kissed him again, with very clear and intense purpose and desire. Altair shifted a bit to sit more comfortably in Malik’s lap, doing so went straight to Malik’s head. The lower one. Not good. He could move past it though. And when Altair messed with hair too, though that was a bit more difficult. He didn't even know if Altair knew what he was doing, or maybe he did and didn't care. Malik let it happen instead of worrying too much about it.

Malik put his hand up under Altair’s dark robes and tugged the shirt from where it was tucked into his pants. Altair often slept shirtless and had no problem with Malik touching him. Along the back or chest or side. Honestly Altair enjoyed it and maybe even craved it. At first it had made Malik sad, that no one had ever touched Altair gently before, or with any care. Only touching him with smacks and beatings. He'd learned the placed Altair liked, like the small of his back above his tailbone and up between his shoulder blades. Shoulders were a bit too far to reach so he settled for lower. The soft noise Altair made when he did that did horrible things to Malik and he wondered if that was really a good idea. Especially when Altair’s mouth grew less assertive and Malik could kiss his way in and use his tongue. That had been a weird thing to work up to at first.

Altair leaned forward a bit, so he was basically leaning against Malik, one hand on the back of Malik’s neck. That made Malik’s everything ramp up a bit and he knew they had to stop. He was going to get a hard on at this rate, especially since Altair kept sighing softly as they kissed like it was the best thing he'd ever done. Not that Malik _didn't_ want Altair but he knew it was off limits. Altair didn't mind his chest or back or arms or head touched but nothing below the waist. Not even his legs or ankles or feet. So, it was impossible to get any further, whatever that was even supposed to _look_ like Malik had no idea.

Malik dipped his head and shivered a little when Altair didn't even notice and lowered his head to press his mouth against Malik’s jaw and neck. _Horrible_ idea. Felt fantastic but horrible for him. He cleared his throat. “Altair,” he said. Altair ‘hmmmd’ at him. “If we dawdle too long Kamal will come looking for us. I don't think you want him to find us like this.”

“Mmmm, no,” Altair agreed. He pressed another kiss to the corner of Malik’s jaw before dismounting and Malik hunched a bit. He was kinda hard and felt awkward about it. Had Altair noticed? He hoped not, he would have been mortified.

“You are so good at wasting time Altair. Anything to avoid work hmm?”

Altair shrugged. “What can I say? You are distracting,” he said and licked his lips. Then he grabbed some more breakfast and washed it down with some tepid tea. “Shall we?”

“I need to clean up. There is no washroom in my rooms like there is in yours,” Malik said.

“Alright, I'll see you downstairs,” he decided. As he went to the door he paused a moment to run his fingers through Malik’s hair. Then he was gone and Malik was left sitting there alone with the cats who were busy laying about or had gone out the window to pass their night waste. He slouched in his chair with a sigh.

He let himself a few seconds before getting up and going into the bedroom. He stripped and went to wash himself. He also used that time to jerk of. Twice. He felt better when he was finished. How did Altair never seem to need to do that? The man didn't even seem to wake with morning wood either. Malik would have noticed if he did because Malik was keenly aware of that.

Once he was clean Malik got dressed. No drawstrings today. He felt lazy and didn't want to work too hard and just shimmied into a pair of fitted pants instead. The tailor they had on staff here at the fortress was a genius and had made all of Malik’s clothes so they were as easy to put in one handed as possible. As he pulled on his black robe he honestly contemplated how intimacy between two men worked. He only thought about that when Altair, unintentionally, left him too frustrated to think properly. Before he knew it he'd been sitting on the bed some minutes, thinking about it, and of Altair naked, and his mouth and lips and how good that scar felt when he kissed and licked Altair's mouth. Fully distracting and fully inappropriate. He sighed and looked down. Well at least he hadn't given himself another erection from that. He needed to go downstairs to start their morning work but Malik always felt awkward after his impure thoughts about Altair and they had to work together.

Nothing for it really. He'd deal with it. He got up, adjusting himself a bit, and left the room. Ehan was sitting down the hall in a chair, arms folded, feet planted and hood up like an immovable stone sentinel. “Grand Dai,” he said as greeting.

“Hello Ehan,” Malik said and was suddenly very glad to see the man. He went over to their door guard. “How's Haytham?” Ehan was their easiest link to Haytham and relaying information to and from their little spy.

“Busy,” Ehan said. “Restless. I have not seen much of him.”

“How about Raafe?” Malik asked.

“Haytham does not allow Raafe near anyone.” He frowned a bit, “No. Rather he does not allow anyone near Raafe. Not since that man attempted to blackmail him,” Ehan corrected himself. “He is protective.”

“As he should be,” Malik said. “Anything else to report, Ehan?”

“When is the meeting of the Dais this year and where is it? Jari has been wanting to ask but is too anxious of the answer.”

Malik's brow furrowed. The meeting of the Dais was a yearly event that changed places every year so their brothers didn't always have to travel so far in the case of some of them. “It was supposed to be in Jerusalem this year. But not till the end of winter. Why? Why didn't Jari ask me himself?”

“Because he is an anxious ninny,” Ehan said. “Will it be somewhere else this year since our bureau in Jerusalem is gone?”

“That is yet to be seen,” Malik said. “It may mark the first day of the new Dai’s tenure there.”

“I see. Thank you Grand Dai, I will tell him.”

“Of course,” Malik said slowly and left Ehan to his post. He went downstairs and found Altair and Kamal waiting for him at the table. Altair seemed to be having Kamal do arithmetic of some sort. Altair looked up when he neared and if Malik didn't know now he would have sworn he had imagined the way Altair's eyes flashed. He still didn't know why Altair’s eyes did that or really what it meant but it wasn't a bad thing at least.

“I miss anything?” he asked Altair.

“No,” Altair said. “I was just having Kamal draw sums for me.”

“For what?” Malik asked as he sat.

“Metal work,” Altair said. “I have reviewed some files of our men and some are ready for promotion.”

“Ah. Short swords?” Malik asked. Normal Assassins and novices only had the standard long sword unless they specifically specialized in something else. When a man was granted status of Master he was gifted an intricate short sword they also carried into combat. They rarely used it in tandem with their long sword as most of their men weren’t trained to fight two handed but they used the short sword effectively. Malik knew Altair preferred his over his long sword. It was more personal and he could use it in easier tandem with his hidden blade. Of course Altair was deadly with any sort of sword. Not like Rauf, who could use any weapon you gave him, but Altair was a fair hand in enough that it was like he could use anything.

“Yes. Our smiths told me to make the type of steel required for them will require a good deal of money, especially when I plan to promote several of our brothers. Jase got one of the last short swords we had on hand worthy of a Master. There were-” he glanced at Kamal.

“Three left,” Kamal said.

“But we will need more.”

“How many men do you plan to promote?” Malik asked.

“Half a dozen-

“Altair are you sure about this? Promotion is no small matter.”

Altair sent him a look, “Are you questioning me on this?”

“I am simply making sure you will not promote the _wrong_ men. You’ve seen how it can go to some men’s heads,” Malik said diplomatically.

“I have been cautious in choosing,” Altair said. “And I have not seen how they perform in the field.”

Malik rose his brows, “That is not a requirement for Master rank,” Malik said.

“It is now,” Altair said. “I will watch the candidates on a mission and based on how they do they will be promoted. That ensures they do not just idly earn their rank, but they actually earn it.”

“Not one of your worse ideas,” Malik said. “But I do not agree with you going out on missions again.”

“Why? Because I’m Mentor?”

“Yes,” Malik said flatly. “Do you know the uproar it would cause if something _happened_ to you out there? If the Saracens or Templars somehow managed to capture you it’d lead to an even bloodier war than the one we fight now.” Altair scoffed. “Or is this just an excuse so I cannot deny you going on a mission?” Malik gave him an unamused look and Altair just smirked. “ _No_ Altair,” he said sternly.

“Yes, Malik,” Altair said. “At any rate the swords won’t be ready for weeks yet and that’s only once the materials come in. Which is what Kamal was doing, figuring how much it would cost and… if we could afford it.”

Malik frowned a bit. It was a well kept secret that the Order was very nearly broke. Even their contracts only brought in enough to keep it running but the coffers were empty. Malik lacked the confidence to take on real contracts that they could charge high sums for, mostly out of worry that he would sick the Templars or the Saracens after the Order like Azrael had before he’d died. He was wary of the high rewards so stuck mainly to petty disputes between wealthy merchants and lower nobility or even simply between disagreeing commoners. It meant their men worked hard and often, since less money from each contract meant more missions, and still they only could afford to maintain the status quo. When Azrael had been of right mind the treasury had been full of gold, jewels, and dinars but the last of his years and final months of madness had eaten at his mind as much as their money. The Order hadn’t been in debt when Malik and Altair had taken over but it was a very near thing.

Of course there was still that contract, taken out by one of Saladin’s generals, to kill Richard Lionheart. The reward was a _huge_ quantity of gold. Every two months or so the contract was resent and ended up on Malik’s desk. He never took it. Altair had garnered goodwill with Richard when he’d killed Robert de Sable two years ago, and Malik didn’t need or want the crusaders at their doors. Bad enough they were at a strange armistice with the two armies. Malik and Altair did not send their men to assassinate their officers or officials, and they left the Assassins alone to meddle in the affairs of the common and lesser folk.

The extravagance of buying the materials for Master rank short swords would have to be bought carefully. The hilts were made of silver wire and ivory, with the pommels individualized and special to each one. They were also perfectly balanced, unlike a normal Assassin’s sword which could be a bit unbalanced. And that didn’t include the time it’d take. The smiths the Order employed were some of the few men who worked the fortress that were _not_ trained Assassins. Them and the tailors and the cleaning staff really, everyone else was a murderer. Instead they were exceptionally talented master craftsmen from across the Holy Land brought to Masyaf to make the best weapons and armor for the best fighters in the known world who would appreciate their talent and metal working. The Order also paid them _very_ well for their skill and services.

“And?” Malik asked.

“These are just rough calculations based on last month’s finances,” Kamal said. “But we definitely couldn’t afford six short swords,” he said looking over the notes he’d gotten from their accountants and his own calculations. “Maybe two or three, but Ali has also put in a request for new materials for the hospital. New surgical knives and specific medicines to restock our supply here. Jad told me they’re waiting for final approval from Munahid on this month’s budget before they buy anything. From the way he said it it sounded like there was no room in the budget for this sort of stuff.”

Malik sighed. “So the Order is broke this month, again.”

“Afraid so, sir,” Kamal nodded.

“Munahid is taking care to budget the money we give him, so that is not our concern.”

“We could give him more to work with,” Altair said. “We throw out half these contract requests, and some of them pay better.”

“And are more likely to get us into trouble with the enemy,” Malik huffed.

“Everyone’s our enemy, Malik. We’re just useful to them now. Once we prove we aren’t they’ll turn on us same as before,” Altair said. “It isn't like we're allies.”

“No,” Malik agreed.

“We could afford to make a few enemies.”

“Didn't you just say-

“I meant some for us. You've got to assume that the ones Azrael had know he's dead because we haven't killed them yet. That or they _are_ dead. Like this one,” Altair pulled out a contract. While people didn't know exactly _where_ Masyaf was anyone who needed could get a message to them. Their men would find them and take the message and send it home on a bird, or if it was bigger, send it home with a contract killer. This one was fancy and well written by someone with a knowledgeable hand in perfect Armenian. “They want us to kill an Armenian bishop. They are willing to pay a lot of money for him to be taken care of, but they don't even say how much,” Altair handed Malik the contract request. “We aren't enemies with the Armenians,” he added.

“Yet,” Malik said and took the paper. “Still. Killing a member of the clergy. Doesn't by seem a bit unethical, Altair?”

“The Armenians are overrun by crusaders. The king is dead and they fight with the English and French. Their priests and scholars refuse us at their doors and will not shelter us when the bells toll. They act not as men of God, but men of gold. I say kill a few,” he said, smirk sharp.

Malik mulled it over and then looked at Kamal. “What do you think, Kamal. You're Armenian.”

“My mother was raped and killed by men in my father’s home village where I was born because they were jealous of him because she was so beautiful. He fled to the Holy Land, furious to find a way to kill those men. He ended up giving me to the Order as payment to buy out a contract because he was poor and could not afford to kill five men,” Kamal said calmly. “He told me Armenians were no better than the crusaders who rape our women destroy our homeland. I am Muslim, not Christian. I say kill him, and anyone else.”

Altair and Malik both stared at Kamal, not expecting such a response. “And where is your father now?” Malik asked.

“He lives in the village, farmer. He is very proud I'm the scribe of the Mentor. I am from that country but I have no love for it.”

“No, I would think not,” Malik said slowly.  He hadn't expected such a visceral reaction out of the boy. Next to him Altair seemed proud. Probably that his shy little scribe who had a crush on a nurse was secretly as bloodthirsty as he was. Of course all of their boys were a bit blood thirsty. They tended to die in the training ring if they weren't. “A bishop though, Altair. What would we become if we killed him?”

“Murderers. But we already are. I don't know why this upsets you so much. I've killed half a dozen priests and imams,” he shrugged.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I simply did as I was told. I do not care or feel one way or another for who I kill with my hidden blade. Satisfaction of a job well done I suppose,” he shrugged.

“Azrael had you kill them. We could go down his path.”

“Malik,” Altair smacked the message down onto the desk so Malik had to look at him. “We _need_ gold. And not an insignificant amount. What happens when all our small contracts dry up? Or they stop being sent seeing we have no stomach for political targets anymore? Tithe from the other countries only comes in three times a year and that isn't anywhere near enough to keep the Order going. If we want to survive we must make hard choices. Including this.”

Malik’s mouth went thin. Altair wasn't wrong. But it still made him feel wretched that they would sanction a hit on a priest. A bishop no less! They did need the money and they were already sinners in the eyes of many. This wouldn’t hurt their reputation at all but it still felt wrong to Malik. Altair was still right though. The money they could get from agreeing to kill an Armenian bishop would be no small amount. The Armenian Apostolic Church wasn’t as rich as their Catholic cousins in the west but they were by no means poor and the hit was being asked for by another bishop. Gold would flow freely here.

Altair watched Malik intently, waiting. “Alright,” he finally said. Altair breathed a sigh almost in relief. “Let the record show that I do not fully agree with this but you are right. We need money but I do not approve of our methods.”

“Noted, and also ignored,” Altair said with a smirk and tone that made Kamal snort. Malik scowled at him. “Now, we must send good news to the Bishop Emin that his rival in the church will be silenced,” he looked at Kamal who quickly began writing in his neat hand. “How much does the life of a bishop cost?” Altair asked.

“Three thousand dinars?” Kamal supplied.

Altair scoffed. “I wouldn’t even get out of bed for three thousand dinars.”

“Altair I practically have to kick you out of bed every morning,” Malik said boredly.

“I was thinking more like _six_ thousand dinars,” Altair grinned.

Malik perked up, “That’s an outrageous sum.”

“I know. But this letter is outrageous as well. Kill a bishop? He must think we have no morals. So make him pay out his nose for the honor of us doing his dirty work.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Kamal said.

Altair said. “Think of it Malik. Six _thousand_ dinars. To kill one old man. I’m sure Emin has tried before to kill his rival. It does say that they are guarded. Amateurs. It will take our men a week of investigation and an afternoon to carry out the deed. And that is with our other contracts.”

“Alright Altair, I get it,” Malik said. But he did sell the image well. And six thousand dinars. Munahid would probably cry in happiness when there were suddenly six thousand dinars in their accounts and he didn’t have to berate the accountants to try and squeeze another piece of silver or bronze out of their limited coffers. The doctors could get their medicines and the smiths the materials for the short swords Altair wanted. They could afford to spend money on things other than keeping the Order from collapsing. Malik had been very careful about keeping the Order out of debt or from having to borrow any money. But he was still reluctant to take the larger contracts like this one that would bring in the gold by the chest full.

“He’s doing it again,” Kamal said.

“Hmm?” Malik asked.

“That look you get-

“Shut up Kamal,” Malik told him and Kamal just laughed into his hand. “I was thinking about money. Trust me, I _never_ look that happy when I have to think about Altair,” he grunted. That made Altair snort as well.

“So, six thousand dinars?” Kamal asked.

“Yes,” Altair nodded. Kamal nodded as well and went back to writing. As he did Malik and Altair went over other, smaller, contracts. Things worth a few hundred or dozens of dinar that they didn’t need to talk out. Malik wrote the confirmations for those contracts, and they’d be sent off to the clerks to write up properly. They’d then be sent out to the Dais who’d use the men stationed in their districts to get the contracts to those who’d wished to buy. If they signed the contract it’d be sent back to the Assassins, along with the payment and Malik and Altair would dispatch a man to do the killing. It paid that they had a perfect reputation for always following through with their deeds and those who paid for death knew that while mercenaries or singular assassins might mess up, or would take your money and run, the Brotherhood of Assassins always earned their gold.

Malik handed those agreed contracts to Kamal who got up and took them and the draft of the bishop contract to the clerks to be written up at length in the proper style of their Order. Next came the signed contracts that had come in with the agreed upon gold amount. This always took the longest and ended up with a good deal of bickering before lunch. They had to chose who to send on these missions, then summon the man and give him his task. The Dai of the district would already be researching and investigating the target with the help of journeymen and his spies so they could relay that information to the hunter when he arrived. Kamal came and left many times in the morning, fetching this man or that man for Malik and Altair to tell them they’d been selected for the mission. None of them were ever upset to be chosen and always left quickly once they’d been told where they were sent to fly.

Finally it was lunch and Malik could think about not wanting to strangle Altair for always wanting to make things _more_ difficult than they had to be. Kamal brought them lunch and after Altair left to go find something else to do. Malik didn’t need him and he slowed Malik down anyway. The afternoon Malik spent in meetings with others. He spoke to Munahid, who did look like he might tear up when Malik told him about the bishop contract, and to Rauf, and Sidra- a large matronly woman who basically ran the harem of concubines- and half a dozen others who all needed to speak with him for one thing or another.

Altair could _not_ do this part of their job. He hated talking to people, dealing with their problems, listening and pretending to care of their issues. Malik had tried to make him do it in the beginning for a month and then he’d yelled at one of the village elders who came about some asinine complaint Malik couldn’t even remember now and had never been back. Better for it too since Altair scared most of their people who weren’t other Assassins or who didn’t work around Altair fairly often. They could speak freely to Malik and if it was actually important he’d tell Altair. Most of it wasn’t though. By the end of the day Malik just had to sit and listen to people complaining about this thing or that thing. They were all villagers, though a few of his men were mixed in. Malik took notes when needed but otherwise just assured them he’d look into it and sent them on their way.

It was mind numbingly boring and finally the last person had left and Malik just wanted to pass out. Instead he got up, stretching, cracking his back pleasurably, and put away all their things. Malik only had meetings and listened to complaints every few days. The days he didn’t he had Kamal comb the notes he had on the issues and weed out the stuff that wasn’t important from things that _were_ since Malik just worked automatically after a while. Then the next day Malik went about solving the problems from the first day, then he had a day of rest in the afternoon or found something else to occupy his time, then began again.

Below he could hear the imam calling the Muslims in for sunset prayer, his singing rising up from the fortress mosque like an angel’s. Malik stood on the balcony, looking down as men entered the mosque. They had a synagogue and a christian chapel in the fortress as well but the most visited holy area was the mosque since most of their men _were_ Muslim. Not that Masyaf cared. Jew, Christian, Muslim, practicer of an older way, it mattered not. So long as you could fight, that you could _kill_ you were welcome in Masyaf. Really the Order did not care that the crusaders were even Christians like the Saracens did, they cared that they were pillaging their home land and raping their women and killing their fathers and sons and destroying everything in their path.

The imam stopped singing as all the men made their way into the mosque and there was no longer anything to see. Malik went up to the Grandmaster’s rooms. Malik had not practiced Islam in two years, not since he began to lay with Altair regularly. It was more than a little blasphemous and Malik was many things but he did his very best _not_ to be a hypocrite. Altair went when he felt like it and sometimes attended Sunday service at the chapel or Saturday service at the synagogue. No one found it strange that he did so either since they were all expected to know the rituals and teachings of all the Abrahamic religions and attend services even if they did not believe in their hearts the teachings. All Muslim novices were required to attend Saturday and Sunday service with their Christian and Jewish brothers and the same for Jews and Christians, though they only had to attend mosque once a week. This went on for years, along with their lessons in religion and holy teachings. Malik was the weird one really. Never went to church, or the synagogue, or the mosque. It never weighed on his conscious though.

Jari was on duty when he came upstairs. “Good evening, Jari,” Malik greeted.

“Evening, Grand Dai. Altair is inside already and Kamal went to get your dinner.”

“Thank you. Has he been in there all day?”

“No sir. Just an hour or so. So Christopher told me at least, I just came on shift.”

“I see,” Malik nodded a bit. “Thank you Jari.”

“Of course, Grand Dai.” Malik opened the door to Altair’s rooms. “Malik,” he said and Malik stopped.

“Yes?” Malik asked.

“The meeting of the Dais isn’t going to be in Masyaf this year?” he asked. It had been the past two years because it had needed to select the new Grandmaster and then last year’s had been basically checking in on said Grandmaster and Grand Dai. Now that that was over it’d resume its rotation.

“No,” Malik said. “Jerusalem this year, unless something goes terribly wrong.”

“Oh,” Jari practically wilted. “Will you be going?”

“Yes. I am Dai of Masyaf.” Which was weird. Masyaf didn’t have a Dai before Malik.

“Yes, of course,” Jari nodded. “I assume you’ll be bringing guards with you? For the road? That and I hear Jerusalem is more dangerous than ever.”

“Probably. Altair would not let me leave without some,” he rolled his eyes a bit.

Jari’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Could I be a part of your guard detail?”

“Hmm? I don’t see why not. Why? Tired of seeing these walls every day?” Malik teased.

Jari’s smile was a bit strained, “A bit, yes,” he agreed.

“Don’t worry of it Jari. The meeting of the Dais won’t be till later this year.”

“Yes, of course,” Jari nodded.

“Safety and peace, Jari,” Malik said and Jari echoed him as he went into Altair’s rooms. Altair was lounging with Sawsan on his shoulder and Kanwai on his lap reading a slim volume, his eyes moving slowly across the page.

He looked up when Malik came in, “Thought you would never be done down there,” Altair complained, putting the book down.

“Yes, well one of us must do it, and we both know you won’t,” Malik said and sat down next to Altair with a grunt and a sigh. Altair leaned over, kissing him and Malik would have been hard pressed to say that didn’t make him feel a bit better. It didn’t turn into a kiss like the one this morning (thankfully) and Altair drew away to go back to his book. “What are you reading?”

“Azrael’s journal. I showed it to you before, remember?”

“Not really?” Malik squinted a bit. “May I?” Altair held out his hand and Malik took it.

‘When I’m in Aleppo I’m happy. When I leave I worry.’

‘Still haven’t told Zaki.’

‘Sent to settle a dispute between towns over a girl. They were about to enter a blood feud over the legitimacy of a virgin. My presence alone-

Kamal opened the door with a short knock. “Dinner,” he announced. The cats all got up to mill about Kamal’s legs. Malik put the journal down and Altair took it back, putting it away. Kamal put the food out for the cats first otherwise they’d mob the young man, and then he brought Altair and Malik their own dinner.

“Thank you,” Altair said. “I wonder what Navid could do with six thousand dinars?” Altair mused.

“Which one? Navid ibn Omar al-Aahil or Navid ibn Gamali?” Navid ibn Gamali was the head of the cooks in their kitchens, while Navid al-Aahil was the guard commander of the town and tower guards.

“Mmmm, both but for the sake of entertainment, Navid ibn Gamali,” Altair said, loading a pita bread with cheese, meat and humus and stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.

“I think he’d have a heart attack,” Malik said and Altair covered his mouth to not spit his food out. “Six thousand dinars could buy every expensive ingredient he could ever want and enough meat to supply the fortress for months. His head would burst from the possibilities.”

“Ah so his excellent food would get better?” Altair asked.

“Yes, exactly,” Malik agreed. “Navid al-Aahil would ask if we were playing a joke on him.”

“I’d tell him we were just because,” Altair chuckled.

“You really think bishop Emin will pay six thousand to get rid of his rival?”

“Oh yes,” Altair bobbed his head. “Men will do many things and pay a ridiculous amount of money to get things that they want. Emin wants his rival out of the way, and has come to us. If an Armenian bishop must go so low as to seek us out then he is willing to pay what we ask and he is already expecting to pay a great sum for it.”

“You know much about what powerful men would do, hmm?” Malik asked.

“I listen,” Altair said. “One can learn much from listening.” Malik didn’t know if that was a barb at him or not. He chose not to see it as such.

Malik just ate his dinner. “Have you noticed Jari acting odd today?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Jari? No, but Christopher was on watch when I came up here,” Altair shrugged.

“He misses Diyari,” Kamal said boredly while making sure all the cats were eating.

“Yes, they were friends, right?” Malik asked.

“Well…”

“Kamal?”

“You didn’t hear it from _me_ but…” Kamal grinned sheepishly. “Lets just say Diyari is the Grand Dai to Jari’s Mentor.”

Altair and Malik traded looks, Altair’s cheeks were a bit puffed out from the food he was eating, he still ate like he’d never eat food again in his life. Then Malik looked back at Kamal. “What?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“No!” Malik said. “No that is quite… just why would you use that as an example?”

“You’re the only one I have,” Kamal shrugged.

Malik rubbed his forehead. “First Kamal likes boys, now Jari and Diyari. What next, Ehan and Haytham?” he asked sarcastically.

“That’d be weird,” Kamal grimaced. “And Haytham likes girls too much. Raafe tells me he visits the doves like once a week-

“What he does in his spare time is none of our business,” Malik told Kamal pointedly. Kamal just shrugged. “That explains why he wants to go with me when the meeting of the Dais occur.”

“Why didn’t he say something when we were assigning Diyari to Aleppo?” Altair asked.

Kamal shrugged. “And he would have said what exactly? ‘Master please don’t send my male lover to Aleppo’ yes I’m sure Jari thought that would go over _so_ well,” Malik said sarcastically. “He was afraid.”

Altair leaned back and folded his arms, “That’s stupid.”

“Surely you understand this.”

“I do. Doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid. He shouldn’t have to hide behind his fear of getting stoned for how he feels.”

“Yes well we are the minority opinion on this,” Malik said.

“I suppose,” Altair frowned. “Kamal you may go. Come back before you go to sleep to collect the remains.”

“Of course,” Kamal bowed and left.

“I swear since he’s told us he knows he’s gotten so cocky,” Malik said.

“He’s sixteen, he’s a teenage boy. They’re all cocky shit heads, even our Kamal.”

“Pfft,” Malik scoffed.

“That’s how we train them so it isn’t anyone’s fault by our own.”

“Hah. Yes,” Malik agreed. “Though I think you were worst than the rest.”

“Perhaps,” Altair said and dusted his hands off. “But you are the cockiest now,” he said it in such a way Malik had to actually process what he said. Altair leaned back and took out Azrael’s journal again. A cat crawled into his lap.

Was Altair talking about his libido? Was he annoyed by it? Or that Malik had called this morning short? Malik sat there a good five minutes worrying about it, picking at the remains of their dinner, before he just turned to Altair. “Is that alright?” he asked.

Altair’s eyes flicked up, amber eyes alert. He knew exactly what Malik was asking and even Malik wasn’t sure what he was really asking. “Yes,” he said. Yes? No elaboration.

“Would you prefer I act differently?” Malik asked cautiously.

“No Malik,” he said with an amused half smile. “I like you just the way you are now.” Oh good so Malik’s strange actions didn’t disturb Altair. Malik wiped his hands and joined Altair on the pillows. “Why? Are you worried?” he asked.

“I worry about many things,” Malik said slowly, still sort of unsure where this was coming from or where it was going.

Altair leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I like this here, now,” he said. “And that you respect my wishes on things.”

“Oh,” Malik said but for some reason that made him a bit upset. Altair’s wishes on things like where he liked being touched and not touched and when and what was absolutely not acceptable. “Of course,” he added quickly so Altair didn’t get suspicious. Malik only did that because he forced himself to. He really really did just want to touch Altair everywhere, especially where Altair didn’t allow. He wanted to know Altair more intimately, but he wasn’t allowed. He kissed Altair again, this time on the mouth and that was nice. That was about as close as he’d get. How annoying.

Altair smiled and went back to the journal. Malik got up and went to find something to do before returning to Altair’s side with his own book. As soon as he sat down Kadar jumped right onto his lap. Kadar didn’t like petting that much but he liked sitting in your lap while you did other things so he was perfectly content to be Malik’s book rest. Malik appreciated the warm weight of the tom cat on his lap and the book distracted him from thinking about Altair until they had to go to bed. Altair didn’t banish Malik to his rooms again this time and when Malik went to follow him into the bedroom Altair did not deny him.

It was cold enough for Altair to sleep in a night gown and he liked wearing one about five times too big for him so he was swimming in it. Malik thought he was funny but didn’t comment really he just got ready for bed. Sawsan was waiting for them when they finally got into bed and Altair spent a good ten minutes facing away from Malik, just petting her and talking to her softly. Stupid jealousy ignited Malik’s stomach. _This_ was why he hated being in love! He was jealous of a damn cat! He didn't know what made him more annoyed, the cat or himself.

Altair flinched in surprise when Malik wrapped an arm around his waist. Probably a stupid idea, to surprise an Assassin, but Malik wasn't smart all the time. On Altair's other side Sawsan meowed loudly.

“She says wait your turn, Malik,” Altair teased him.

Malik propped himself up a bit to grab Sawsan by the ruff and lift her up. He saw Altair literally about to yell at him before Malik just put Sawsan between them. “I do not share well,” Malik said, releasing Sawsan and petting down her ruff.

Altair rolled over and that, more than anything, was what Malik had wanted and he was petty enough to use Sawsan to make him. “I see,” Altair said and Sawsan laid out on her belly, looking at Altair.

“I don't even know why she likes you more than me. I took care of her longer,” Malik complained when Altair stroked her head.

“Yes but she loves me more,” Altair said.

“I know.”

“Because I saved her. That's why she loves me more,” and Malik smiled when Altair leaned forward and bumped his nose against Sawsan’s. It was so sweet and precious. “And she is my most precious thing.” Malik didn't begrudge Altair this. Sawsan was all the innocence left in Altair, the last wonder and gentleness in a man shaped and sharpened and beaten by a cruel world and an unforgiving Order that did not encourage or tolerate gentleness.

“And you say she's going to be a mother again?” Malik asked him, also running his fingers through Sawsan’s fur. Altair nodded. “And what will you do with this kittens? We have too many cats in here as it is, Altair,” Malik said before Altair could suggest it.

“Maybe I will give them away,” Altair said. “To teach our young men a lesson in care. Since they have none.”

“So no rat catchers for Sawsan’s brood?”

Altair looked horrified. “Of course not,” he said. “Sawsan’s a fancy girl. She isn't suited for work. Hmm, Lily Lady?” he asked her. She meowed at him and purred. “A lesson maybe. But not a lowly rat catcher,” he looked deep in thought as he pet Sawsan’s side.

“That won’t be for some time yet,” Malik said.

“Yes,” Altair said. “We’ll keep them here till they’re more grown anyway,” he looked up at Malik, seeing if he would disagree. Malik didn’t. He admitted Sawsan’s kittens had been cute when they’d been small, crawling over everything and unknowingly seeking the hands of men who’s were coated in blood for comfort and attention. Sawsan picked herself up from where she was and climbed over Altair. Altair turned his head to watch her before she jumped down from the bed and went to the window. They always left one open so she could leave when she wanted to.

“I take it it is my turn now?” Malik chuckled.

Altair looked at him. “Or perhaps she is telling us to sleep.”

Just mention of sleep made Malik yawn. Altair did not yawn in response. Instead he just got comfortable. He closed his eyes and Malik thought he looked peaceful. Malik levered himself up on his stump to blow out the lamp behind Altair before laying back down. Tentatively Malik reached out and held Altair’s hand. Altair opened one eye but said nothing, he just closed his eye again and for all Malik knew promptly fell asleep. He smiled a little, watching Altair. He wasn’t satisfied, but he could suffer through this for what he was allowed. These small graces that made him feel good like this. He squeezed Altair’s hand lightly and got comfortable, closing his eyes.

He woke at some point in the middle of the night when Altair moved closer to him to help with the brisk chill of the night. Malik woke only long enough to appreciate Altair’s warmth pressed up against his chest, head under his chin, and the way Altair had his arm wrapped around Malik’s back. He smiled to himself and fell back asleep. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are super great guys. But I'd really appreciate comments too. I'm not made of stone.


	30. Collosseo Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll make a graphic later. Its late I’m tired.

When Malik went downstairs to work Altair was no where in sight. Kamal was sitting at the desk, but there was no Altair and not a cat to be seen. Malik sat down slowly, feeling strange without Altair with him. He was used to Altair being with him for the morning at least. “Kamal,” he said as the novice put his contract inquires in front of him for review.

“Yes?” Kamal asked.

“Where is Altair?”

“I don’t know,” Kamal said.

Malik gave him a look, “Do not lie to me, young man,” he said seriously.

“I’m not,” Kamal said.

“Put your hood down,” Malik instructed.

“Why?” Kamal asked, now nervous.

“Just do it. I won’t smack you,” he promised.

Kamal pulled his hood down slowly. Malik so rarely got to see the young man without it up. He was too much like Altair and liked to hide in it. Though Malik supposed after what had happened to him Malik would want to hide too. Such a shame though. He was a handsome young man, still a bit too tall and awkward for his own good, but he was finally growing into his features of a large set of Armenian ears and a slightly hooked nose. For a weird second Malik found himself comparing him to Altair and was slightly horrified. He _really_ needed to do something about this insanity. He mentally shook himself.

“Now. Do you know where Altair is?” Malik asked patiently.

Kamal hesitated. He knew Malik. Malik could read Altair’s lies, though it was very difficult if you couldn’t see his face. It was why usually when he asked Altair a question he wanted the truth on he looked him right in the eyes. Altair’s smooth lie only lasted until you looked into his eyes. Kamal wasn’t that hard of a read but having him remove his hood took away his security knowing he couldn’t shield his eyes. “No,” he lied.

“Go get him.”

“Grand Dai I said-

“I know what you said. And you lied to me. Now, go get Altair and bring him here.”

Kamal huffed. “He told me he would not be here for the morning. He had something else to attend to,” he said.

“Which is?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Kamal was truthful in that at least.

“And he didn’t tell me because?”

“Because he didn’t care if you protested,” Kamal said and Malik scowled. That pompous, self important, camel’s ass!

“Kamal,” Malik kept his voice level like he had to do sometimes when people made him angry and he couldn’t raise his voice too much, or he didn’t want to. “Go find Altair. Tell him to come here and if he doesn’t _I_ will come to him.”

“Sir, he said-

“I don’t _care_ ,” Malik said. “He is procrastinating and wasting my time. Tell him to come.”

Kamal wavered between loyalty to Altair, and loyalty to Malik. Malik had chosen Kamal against two very impressive candidates and had been his champion for the first months when Altair had just flat out refused to accept Kamal. Though Malik wasn’t stupid. Kamal loved Altair, worshiped him even. Altair had been the one to rescue him from the torment of Abdul Wahid and have the bully killed, quite literally plucking him out of an abusive episode and making sure he was safe. Kamal respected Malik for all the things Malik could and did do but Altair was so _good_ at making himself loved by those beneath him in ways Malik never could.

Eventually Kamal broke, as Malik hoped he would. “Yes, Grand Dai,” and he got up and left Malik at the desk. Love Altair Kamal might he still owed Malik a great debt. Malik had elevated him beyond anything he could have thought just two years ago. Respect won out over love this time.

Satisfied Malik turned to his inquires and started to plow through them. He tossed out the ridiculous and stupid but didn’t throw out the political ones this time. Since they’d sent their reply to the Armenian bishop Malik had been more accepting of political targets though he would not pick them without Altair at his side. If they were to make new enemies for the Order they would do so together.

Malik looked up when he heard Kamal approaching. “Where is he?” he asked the scribe.

“He uh,” Kamal looked down nervously. “He told me to tell you he is not a dog to be commanded.”

“That idiot,” Malik got up. “Take me to him,” he ordered.

Kamal looked up at Malik, “He said he wanted privacy-

“I don’t care. He knows this is important.” Malik collected the papers and put them away. “Go on,” he motioned to Kamal, “Take me to him.”

Kamal looked like he _really_ didn’t want to obey. But he just ducked his head and headed off. Malik followed behind.

He was surprised when Kamal took him up to the shield wall and up to the top of one of the towers. Altair was leaning on the wall, looking out across the land before them. At his side was a novice. A young one who had to stand on a small step stool to see over the wall. Once Kamal had shown Malik up here he retreated quickly.

Up here the wind yanked at Malik’s robes needly like a complaining child. Malik couldn’t hear what Altair was saying but he did extend his hand out into empty space and the novice looked up at him before looking back out into empty space.

Malik marched right over to him. “Altair,” he barked. “What are you doing up here?”

Altair turned slowly, his eyes seeming to dim. Next to him the novice jumped and spun to look at Malik. His pale eyes were wide and unseeing. “Wait here Jihad,” Altair said gently and stepped away from the wall to meet Malik. He met Malik in the middle and before Malik could say anything Altair grabbed his hand and spun him. That effectively threw Malik for a loop as his back now faced Jihad and Malik’s space was suddenly crowded by Altair, his face so close to Malik’s he could feel the man’s breath. “What are you doing here?” Altair asked in a soft, and strangely dangerous, tone.

“Me?” Malik just bolstered. He wasn’t intimidated by Altair in the slightest. “What are _you_ doing here? You should be helping me at our desk, or did you forget? Its only the only thing I ask you to do, _Mentor_ ,” he said sarcastic and mean and hurtful.

“I am busy,” Altair said lowly.

“It can wait.”

“So can paperwork.”

“It is only how we keep the Order afloat Altair. Surely you understand that our mornings are some of _the_ most important times we spend doing anything.”

“It. Can. Wait,” Altair said.

“For what? A novice?” Malik challenged.

“A novice like _me_ ,” Altair snarled. “The only one I’ve ever met _like me_. So yes. It. Can. Wait,” he hissed. “Now I am busy. I trust you to be able to handle the contracts without me. That is what you were elected for since I obviously couldn’t do them myself anyway.” Their faces were almost touching now, but there was no intimacy. They were both furious. That happened when they were both stubborn about what they wanted. “Now leave. I am in the middle of something or will you make me have a guard remove you from my presence _again_?”

Malik looked at him cooly. Altair’s face was blank and terrifying and Malik was a touch afraid though he knew Altair would never harm him. When Altair was angry he was terrifying and the last time Malik had seen Altair truly angry was the day they’d been sworn in as Grandmaster and Grand Dai and he’d been shot with the arrow. The thing though was that Altair was in control when he was emotional, though he never acted it. “We will continue this later,” Malik said.

“Leave,” Altair said in a tight whisper.

Malik took a step back and to the side. Altair followed him in his turn to keep Malik in his sight. Malik took another step back, slowly, like you would when encountering a dangerous animal. Malik wasn’t afraid of Altair but he had a very healthy respect for what he was capable of. When Malik reached the entrance only then did Altair relax some. Malik left but before he was gone he turned back around to see Altair return to where Jihad was and turn the boy around.

Kamal was down there. “I told you,” Kamal said.

“He is an idiot. That novice will never be useful,” Malik scoffed.

“Why? Is there something wrong with him?” Kamal asked as he followed Malik back into the fortress.

“He is _blind_. A useless cripple even more than me,” he waved at his missing arm vaguely.

“Blind? Really? Why did you let him come then?”

“Altair let him return with us. I still don’t know why,” Malik rolled his eyes. He knew some basics for it but he still didn’t really _know_. Altair’s eyes did strange things, but he could still see out of them normally. Someone who was blind could not fight, could not run or climb or jump. Even if they could _sort of_ see their work required fine precision. Vaguality got you killed. Altair knew that. The boy couldn’t even _read_.

“That is strange. Altair doesn’t do things without them having purpose,” Kamal said. Malik just made an annoyed noise and went back to his desk. Kamal grabbed the papers and handed them to Malik.

“Since you are here, and he is not, you will assist me this time,” Malik said.

“Really?” Kamal’s eyes got big under his hood.

“Yes.”

“Yes, Grand Dai,” he said excitedly. Malik looked at him rather fondly and went to work. He hated doing contract work without Altair. If for no other reason than it was _boring_. Altair would challenge him on things and what contracts they should take. Kamal just dictated as Malik instructed. At the very least it went by quicker than usual.

Malik finished before lunch. He’d never done that before. Well at least not in a very long while. “Kamal,” Malik said as the boy burned the last of the missives. He ‘hmmed!’ attentively. “Go see if Altair is done with his madness with that blind novice before fetching lunch.”

Kamal looked over, “Of course.” Kamal got up and left.

Malik was left sitting at his desk alone and he got up and stretched before wandering over to their records in the book shelves surrounding the desk. He looked them over. There were books dating back _decades_ of contracts and archival information that was useful to the Mentor. Copies of books kept in the library or in the clerical library. Malik pulled out one, not particularly thick, that was from the year he and Kadar had come to Masyaf.

It was a condensed almanac for the entire year that included tithes from the villages, lists and lists of contracts, important astrological dates, any particularly bad sicknesses, and of course, the list of every child who’d been Threshed. Malik scanned the list though knew what he’d see. He saw his name, and a bit above, as it was organized by first names, was his brother. A note had been made next to Kadar’s name stating that he was not yet old enough for physical training. Malik recognized nearly every name on the list, with some exceptions to younger or older boys. Half of them were dead now, and half of that had been self inflicted by the Order.

Malik could still remember the day Abgar had been training in the ring with a novice only a year older than him. They’d just been doing practice with unsharpened swords. But he’d been slow and the sword had cracked him hard in the ribs. He’d gotten up, shaken it off, and continued fighting, though obviously through pain. The older novice had hit him there repeatedly after that seeing it for the obvious weak point and later been praised for finding an exploit. Turned out the hits broke a rib and punctured Abgar’s lung. He’d died through simple neglect to remind the novices that if they were in _pain_ to tell the instructor and they didn’t have to fight anymore. The other boy had been yelled at.

There were many stories like that for Malik, and for everyone alive now.

Malik closed the book and put it away.

Kamal wasn’t back yet. Where had he gotten off to? Unless Altair had taken his whatever elsewhere and Kamal had to go hunt for him. Malik huffed. Why did Altair make Malik’s life so difficult?

He was getting hungry when someone came up to the desk. He was expecting Kamal but was instead met by the sight of Abdul Salam. The boy with the twisted foot. “What are you doing here, Abdul Salam?” Malik asked him, confused. Why was he here?

Abdul Salam was equally confused. “You did not send for me, Grand Dai?” he asked.

“No, who sent you here?”

“Your scribe Kamal told me the Mentor said you were asking after me.” Malik stared. Was Altair _really_ this petty? Send a novice here? ‘Spend time with the novice you fought me over’ he could just _hear_ Altair saying that. What a child.

“I see,” Malik said slowly and went back over to his desk. Well, Malik had nothing better to do till after lunch. “Come,” Malik beckoned and Abdul Salam came forward to stand right in front of the desk. “Does your leg pain you, Abdul Salam?” he asked, curious.

“No sir,” he said. “It just gets stiff sometimes,” he shrugged.

“How do you like it here in Masyaf?”

“I miss my _omy_ sometimes. But there are more boys here than back home.”

“You have made friends then?” Abdul Salam nodded. “They do not mock you for your leg?”

“Some,” Abdul Salam shrugged. “But I am used to it. And that I don’t have to take the same classes as them. I get to sleep in and they are jealous,” he grinned though.

“Oh? So you are not in their physical classes?” Abdul Salam shook his head. “And what course did Rauf and Munahid decide for you?” he asked. They’d given instruction to Munahid on both Abdul Salam and Muhammad that they boys were to be moved into clerical studies immediately instead of fighting. What they would become was then up to Munahid, if they would become clerks, accountants, lawyers, or any other book learned position the fortress desperately needed.

“For now, I am learning arithmetic,” Abdul Salam said proudly. “Though Master Munahid said that that may change as I get older and know more. I will do what I am good at.”

“That is good. Have you met a boy named Muhammad? He was Threshed this year as well.”

“I think so? I recognize the name so once maybe? He is with the librarians though so I rarely see him if I do.”

“That is good.” Abdul Salam shifted his weight a bit. “Have you seen your brother?”

“No, sir. He’s been out on a mission to Arabia. No one will tell me what for or when he will be back.”

“His target alluded him,” Malik said. He remembered that one. It had come up to his desk a week or two ago stating that a target had escaped and managed to run for the border, hoping to escape their hunter. The Dai had sent a message to the Mentor stating that the assassin was still on the hunt but would not be back for some time unless he was lucky, since Arabia was not a land well known to those of Masyaf. They let their Arabian brothers handle Arabia for the most part. If Masyaf took Arabian contracts it could interfere with their own income. Malik knew the Arabian part of the Order was _gigantic_ too, even compared to Masyaf which was one of the largest in the Holy Land. Malik had heard that their Indian brothers, who knew of the Mentor here in Syria but had their own Grandmaster (but not the same as the Mentor), had an even larger force to protect India and their neighbors. Bo had told Malik that his Order was surprisingly small, but they were extremely efficient. That and they preached peace as penniless monks over ensuring peace through a sword.

“Oh. Does that happen often?”

“Not if the Assassin knows what they are doing,” Malik said.

“… Is my brother a bad Assassin?” Abdul Salam asked.

Malik had no idea. He had no idea who Abdul Salam’s brother even _was_. At the very least he was probably young, a journeyman most likely, and unskilled. The Dai _had_ said that they had been in a group. They only sent out groups of Assassins for journeymen or men new to their whites and untested alone. “No. These things do happen even to the best of us. The Mentor has even lost one or two targets before.”

“He did?” Abdul Salam’s eyes were huge.

“Yes. But he chased them and killed them eventually. No one escapes forever. Your brother will return.” Unless he died. Good possibility of that. Malik did not tell Abdul Salam that though. He was not that cruel. “You are excited to see him?”

“Yes,” Abdul Salam nodded quickly. “Last time I saw him he was passing through. Omy made him a meal before he had to leave on his way to a mission. My new father did not like that though,” he said.

“Why?”

“He does not like my big brother. Or the Assassins.”

Malik chuckled, “Few do.” Malik looked behind Abdul Salam and was happy to see Kamal coming up with his lunch. “About time, I am starving,” Malik told Kamal.

“Sorry, Grand Dai, I uh—“ he looked over at Abdul Salam and didn’t continue.

“Did you see your friend Rakkim?” Malik asked, just to give him a hard time.

Kamal bowed his head as he put Malik’s lunch on the desk. “I did. We talked a bit and I lost track of time.”

Malik chuckled. “It is fine. Where is Altair?”

“Still occupied,” Kamal said.

“ _Still_. Tell me he plans on eating.”

“Yes, sir. I told him you said if he missed meals again you’d be angry.” Malik laughed at that. “He wasn’t very impressed but he did say that he wasn’t so stupid to not feed a novice.”

“Could have fooled me,” Malik scoffed and took his cup of tea Kamal had poured. “And this was his doing?” he motioned to Abdul Salam.

“Yes sir,” Kamal said. “I _did_ tell him it was rude.”

“Idiot,” Malik grumbled. He looked at Abdul Salam who was just standing there quietly. “You are hungry Abdul Salam?”

“Yes sir,” he said shyly.

“You’re dismissed. Go to the hall and eat.”

“Thank you, sir,” and the boy limped away.

“Why does Altair do this to me?” Malik asked Kamal.

“Because he knows you are easily baited?” Kamal asked, brows raised. Malik sent him a withering look. “You did ask, sir,” he said.

“I liked you better when you were shy and barely talked,” Malik said. That made Kamal laugh. He had been very shy when he’d first started working for them, had barely ever talked and had been jumpy when he did.

“Ah well,” Kamal shrugged easily. “Did you need me? I uh… Rakkim is saving me a seat in the dining hall,” he said and scratched his neck under his hood.

“Go on,” Malik said. “Wait,” he caught Kamal by the back of his shirt before he could get away. “After lunch, fetch my mongoose,” he said.

“Ah— yes, of course Grand Dai,” he nodded and Malik released him.

Malik ate his lunch alone. He hated doing things alone. He preferred doing them with Altair. There was no one to talk to and nothing to do. Maybe he should have asked Abdul Salam to stay. No. Malik didn’t want that. He’d felt sympathy and pity for the boy but it wasn’t like Altair’s interest in Jihad.

He was finishing his lunch when Altair came up to the desk. He was alone. “Ah, Altair, finally decided to—!” Altair grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him to his feet. Malik was so surprised he didn’t fight back and Altair had time to drag him away from the desk to the private alcove behind a few book shelves. “What is the matter with you?”

Altair still had the front of Malik’s robe in his fist. “I did not want to have this discussion in view of everyone. I prefer these things remain private. When I am with Jihad it is _important_. Understand?” he tightened his grip on Malik’s shirt.

“No,” Malik said, “I don’t.”

“Are you stupid?” Altair demanded. “Or mocking me? Or both?” Altair growled.

“He’s a blind novice with a trick-

Altair shook him. “You are stupid,” he hissed. “And like many things, refuse to trust me when I tell you things are the way they are. I know it means nothing to you Malik, because everyone in the world is like you. You see like everyone else. You do not see like I do.”

“That is incredibly presumptuous, Altair,” Malik said, trying to remain calm. He was honestly a bit intimidated by Altair now. Even when he’d been upset about Dhiya he’d never been this intense, he’d never been so focused and pissed that Malik did _not_ understand.

“Then do this,” Altair challenged and his eyes turned into two tiny golden suns. In the shadow of his hood they looked like they were molten pools of gold, almost glowing. “Can you?” Malik did not respond. “No, you cannot. You do not _see_ like I. No one else I have ever known has _ever_ seen like I. Jihad does. Now I am not alone in this madness. So when I say that my time with Jihad is important I mean it is _more_ important than anything else. Understand now?” Altair pulled Malik closer, his fist still in Malik’s clothes. His face was all sharp edges and hard lines.

“Do not tell me redundant things, Altair,” Malik said.

“Do you understand?” Altair demanded. “There is no arguing here. There is just what it is.”

“Then plan your time better,” Malik grabbed Altair’s wrist and got him to release only by digging his fingers into the soft underside of his wrist. “That boy does not need you any more than all the rest of our brothers who expect you to care for them. You do that with me by bringing in money so they don’t suffer. I don’t care what you do in the afternoon. You could spend all day with him. But in the morning you are the Orders and you are at _my_ disposal. Do _you_ understand that?”

Altair narrowed his eyes at him. “Do not speak to me like that?”

“Oh, like how you speak to me? I am your crutch, at the very least you could respect me _some_ ,” Malik hissed.

Altair deflated somewhat. “You know I respect you Malik. You just do stupid things.”

“And you are a fool!” Malik whispered. “You know things must be done and you just go off to do whatever. We must have order Altair, and you must do things you don’t want.”

“Oh not this again,” Altair huffed.

“Yes,” Malik said. “You should not _need_ me. But until that time, should it ever happen, you will listen to me. You are the heart of our Order, but I am the brain and you will not get far without me. Will you?” he challenged. Altair looked away, his eyes dimming. No. Altair would not get far without Malik. Malik was right after all, he was Altair’s crutch. “Now you may spend all the time with Jihad you want in the afternoon, I don’t care. But in the morning you are mine. We have an agreement?” Altair felt passionately but even he understood reason.

Altair sighed. “I guess,” he huffed and folded his arms, looking away petulantly. “I hate when you do that,” he added.

“Do what?” Malik asked, trying not to sound exasperated in him.

“Make me feel stupid for wanting to do things I want.”

Malik sighed. “Just think rationally and we won’t have these problems.”

“I was thinking.”

“Not _enough_ clearly. Ask Kamal next time and if he says its a bad idea; do not do it,” Malik stressed.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Kamal piped in and Malik turned around. He was standing at the entrance of the little shelf hide away. Haytham was standing behind him, purposefully putting a shelf between himself and any other prying else.

“Keep your Master from asking foolish, Kamal,” Malik told him.

“Of you mean like I try to do all the time?” Kamal asked. “I never thought of that one Malik.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Get,” Kamal retreated and Haytham came closer. “Haytham— you look like you have no slept,” he said. Haytham looked _haggard._ His sharp brown eyes were sunken and his face looked more gaunt than before, his cheeks a bit hollow.

“I have not,” he droned. “Marcus has tried to kill me half a dozen times since Mika failed to kill him,” he spoke in practically a whisper.

“Does Marcus know?”

“Know what? That you know something? No. At least as far as I know. He thinks he is very clever but has Mika by the balls. He went and visited his sons yesterday.”

“And?” Altair asked, tone all cool and dangerous.

“He did nothing. He was just making a point.”

“What is his weakness?” Malik asked.

Haytham sighed a tired sigh and rubbed his face with his palm. “I’m unsure. The man doesn’t seem to rest and acts like he’s possessed by a trickster djinn. He’s started to turn more of Abbas old followers to his side.”

“Swami?” Malik asked.

“I still have Swami, and several other key players. But Marcus is whispering in their ears. He’s playing that _I_ am their traitor. He’s telling them I’m a spy.”

“Well… you are,” Altair said sardonically.

Haytham gave him a look. “Yes but _they_ do not know that. Most of them think he is just trying to make me look bad. I shouldn’t be here now though. Marcus has started to… infect others.”

“Like who?” Malik asked.

“Normal brothers, not even extremists. Abbas was power hungry. Marcus is just an anarchist. He does not want power. He wants chaos. He wants to take the yoke from our blades and tell us we are free to do as we please. I have my own spies in his circle and he has secret meetings with our brothers. He preaches that laws and rules are fabrications created by those in power to destroy those beneath them, and that we are no bound by them because they are not real. So we may do what we want.”

“He bastardizes the Creed,” Altair growled.

“Yes,” Haytham sighed. “I really must leave soon, Masters. I know he is speaking with the guards a great deal. They are our peace keepers and once they are corrupt there will be a void in your ability to safe keep everyone from things among us.”

“That is concerning, Haytham,” Malik said.

“Yes,” Haytham nodded.

“And you are holding up? How is your side in all this?”

“We continue on ‘Abbas path’. Those with me who are loyal are loyal to the Order and the Creed. They find Marcus and his ideals an abomination.”

“Can’t I just kill him?” Altair said. “There are witnesses to his heresy.”

“None who would speak of it. Then they’d have to say why they heard and why they would have been apart of it. The Order is still upset over Abbas and the rafiqs who were stealing boys. Just mentioning the man’s name makes people upset now that they know he attacked you on the day you were sworn in. And brothers do not attack one another,” Haytham said. “Now may I go?”

“One last thing,” Malik said and felt bad because of the way Haytham slumped further. “Well, two,” he said. Haytham sighed. “First, how is Raafe faring in all this?”

Haytham blinked. “I sent him away,” he said.

“What?”

“I sent him on a mission. I said it was a target kill, but I sent him to an associate of mine in Damascus who is good with poisons. I have not had the proper time to give him the attention he needs to keep him sharp.”

“You sent a novice away without permission?” Malik asked sharply.

“Of course not,” Haytham said. “Why would I?”

“Because you can’t just _do_ that,” Malik said.

“Malik,” Altair said, “Haytham runs a shadow order in quiet opposition to us. He _wouldn’t_ ask to send his personal novice away.”

“Mhm,” Haytham nodded. “But he is coming along nicely before he left. Hopefully he will not be a novice much longer. Once he is journeyman I will not have to protect him so much.”

“Fine. I wish you had told Ehan at least,” Malik said.

“Forgive me. It has been a trying time for me. I barely remember what day it is.”

“Very well. One last thing and then you may go, Haytham,” Malik said. Haytham waited. “Rest tonight. You may sleep in our apartments without fear of Marcus attacking you.”

Haytham smiled wanly. “I appreciate the offer. If I can manage it, I will. Now I must go before my absence is noticed.”

“Be gone,” Malik waved him away. Haytham turned and peered around the shelf to check if someone was watching and he slipped out from behind it. “I worry about him,” Malik said.

“He will manage,” Altair said.

Malik looked at him, “And you want to make enemies _outside_ the fortress. It seems we have quite enough with those within it!” he scolded Altair who just found it amusing. “But we understand one another?”

Altair pouted, hoping Malik had forgotten. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” Malik said and stepped back over to him. Altair’s eyebrows went up with Malik kissed him on the cheek. “Now its after lunch and I have no use for you. Which I think might be your entire gambit in these things, to get the entire day off.” Altair just shrugged in a non committing way. Malik rolled his eyes at him too and left the bookshelf made alcove. Kamal was at the desk, with all of the papers and information for his afternoon work of dealing with the _many_ complaints the fortress generated every week.

Malik sat, “Full afternoon?” he asked Kamal.

“Not as bad as some weeks,” Kamal said and Malik was aware of Altair standing at the entrance of the alcove, watching but not joining in. “Only six this week.”

“ _Only_ ,” Malik sighed.

“Also during lunch this arrived via horse messenger,” Kamal handed him an envelope. There was the seal of the Armenia Apostate Church on it.

Malik opened it and read it. “Heh… six thousand dinars, seven if he’s dead within the fortnight.” Malik smiled a little as he read. “Gold should arrive tomorrow via caravan. How generous.”

“Shall I inform Munahid that his budget approval just got a lot easier?” Kamal asked him.

Malik chuckled. “Yes, I think that would be good. Tell me if he tears up at all.” Kamal made a noise that was almost a giggle. Malik glanced out of the corner of his eye. Altair was still standing there. “Tell Munahid to make room in this month’s budget for six short swords as well,” he added before Kamal could run off.

Kamal nodded. “Yes Grand Dai,” then he was off to find Munahid. Malik looked at his work and Altair left the opening. As he did he came deliberately close to the desk so he could run a single finger along Malik’s entire arm and hand lightly. A thanks? At the very least an approval. The light touch made Malik’s arm break out into goose flesh and he stared after Altair as he left the office area and headed upstairs. Oh he was in too deep.


	31. Copper King Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I first started part 2 I was LEGITIMATLY worried it wasn’t gonna be as long as part 1 cause I wanted some actual time between the two ‘interludes’. Hence why so much shit happens in it. Idk why I was worried. Part 2 is literally 10k+ longer than Part 1. I just can't stfu.

Malik had never seen three dangerous men so nervous at being summoned like young novices for discipline in his entire life. Malik knew from personal experience that Jari and Ehan were both as deadly as the next man and he only had to assume Christopher was equally as skilled. He only had to assume though since Malik had never seen Christopher fight. But he was big and mean looking with hard European features that made him stand out just as much as his nearly blonde, brown hair. Next to Jari and Ehan it was like he’d been scrubbed with chalk, his skin was so significantly lighter than either of them. Well, mostly more sun burned around the face really.

They were all three rarely in the same place at once though since they worked opposite shifts, with Christopher taking the late night watch shifts or those in the middle of the day when no one was about. That left Jari and Ehan to take the morning and evening watches when things, well, happened and Altair and Malik were actually in and out of their room.

Altair was around, though not paying attention. He didn’t care about the entire thing. No. Of course he wouldn’t. He found no issue in this. Malik was the one who worried about their outward appearance while Altair just worried about being amazing. Or something. At the least they’d gotten rid of all the cats except for Sawsan for this. Malik didn’t need the kittens slinking around, pawing at coat tails, or rubbing against legs wanting attention. Sawsan was laying in her box Malik had had made up for her, her belly only just starting to show, eyes half closed. When Malik looked he saw Altair was reading that thin volume again that was Azrael’s old journal. He really did want to take a moment to look through it at some point, but that would have to wait.

His door guards were sitting in chairs in front of him. They looked equally worried as they did nervous. None of them knew why they’d all been summoned at the same time. Kamal had just found them all and told them to come, now, and no excuses were permitted. Not even from Christopher who’d been sleeping in preparation for his late shift that night. They wore their Master’s robes and looked very silly as they were, looking like teenagers about to be disciplined though they were all the same ago, or older, than Malik.

Malik wasn’t looking forward to this. No not at all. But it was something that had to be done, for his peace of mind if nothing else. They had all keyed in to Malik’s uncomfortableness though and it made them shift and fidget not knowing what to expect.

“Malik just say something you’re killing them and your technique is terrible,” Altair suddenly said from where he was sitting on the floor, looking all relaxed reading the journal.

Malik glared back at him but Altair wasn’t looking at him. “No one’s asking you, Altair,” he said. Altair glanced up at him but said nothing. Still the look was enough; if you don’t say something I will and you won’t like that. No, Malik would not like that either.

“Are we in trouble, sir?” Christopher asked.

“No,” Malik said at length.

“Oh good. I was afraid we were getting demoted or something for what Jari did.”

Malik squinted at them and everyone looked at Jari. “And what did you do?”

“Nothing,” Jari said even though his face heated up a bit. Though that could be from the lie, from what he’d done, or from suddenly being the center of attention. “Christopher is trying to get me in trouble,” and he smacked Christopher’s arm brace with his own hard so it made a sharp metal clang.

Malik looked at Ehan. “Has he done anything?” he asked Ehan.

“I don’t know even what he _could_ do. Jari is so fucking boring he couldn’t get in trouble if he even tried.”

“Ehan!” Jari scowled at him.

“What?” Ehan asked. Ehan’s plain, matter of fact, and calm way he said the entire thing made Malik chuckle. “You’re fucking boring, my friend.”

Jari yanked his hood up before folding his arms and sulking. “Well,” Malik said slowly. “I think that answers that question.”

“Over-reactant,” Christopher said with a roll of his eyes.

“What did you need of us, Grand Dai?” Ehan asked, to put them on some sort of track.

Malik opened his mouth and no words came out. He closed his mouth, cleared his throat and tried again. Again Malik couldn’t find his voice. Well this was very awkward. His guards just cocked their heads at him, confused. “Sir?” Jari asked.

Malik’s only warning to something about to happen was all their eyes looked to his left. Then Altair was right next and kissed him right on the cheek. Malik immediately turned bright red and couldn’t even help himself even if he wanted to. That was _not_ how he expected to go about this at all!

“There. Since you have no resolve,” Altair said. The three of them were _staring_ and Malik didn’t know if he just wanted to disappear or punch Altair as hard as he could.

“Oh… uhm,” Jari immediately sank into his hood, more than a little flustered himself.

“Wow,” Christopher said, just staring wide eyed.

“Is that all?” Ehan asked, unmoved by the entire thing and looked like he just wanted to leave and go back to his dinner Kamal had disturbed him from.

Malik shoved Altair away, more flustered than actually angry but also kinda mad because that was not elegant _at all_. He’d wanted a bit more tack to this entire thing but he guessed he wasn’t allowed that with Altair around. “Shoo,” he told Altair angrily.

Altair only swayed and took one step back but otherwise didn’t move. “What? They all guessed already and you brought them here to tell them. What are you so pissy about.”

“ _You_ ,” Malik said.

Altair just rolled his eyes. “Like they have any stones to throw with a friend like Jari.”

“What!” Jari squeaked and absolutely wilted when everyone looked at him.

“Kamal has a big mouth is what,” Altair said flatly.

“I’m going to murder him,” Jari growled under his breath.

“This is the situation. Are there any objections?” Altair asked blithely.

“I mean, makes a lot more sense why I never saw the Grand Dai in his room when I checked on him at first,” Christopher said, scratching his face a bit. “And the specific ‘send them to my room this time and not to Altair’s’ sometimes,” he shrugged.

“Can I go now?” Ehan asked.

“Nothing else to add, Ehan?”

“What do I care really?” Ehan asked. “You give me a good position and an easy duty for a Master that will ensure I have a long life. So what if you do that thing? I don’t know why people get upset by that at all.”

Malik blinked. “Ehan I did not realize you were so eloquent,” he said. Ehan was usually short and to the point, he rarely spoke in more than a sentence at a time and never about his ‘feelings’ or what he was thinking. Sometimes Malik wasn’t sure the big Assassin wasn’t really part statue or rock.

“When time requires. Now really? Was this all? Not to be disrespectful Masters, but this was a waste of my time.”

“This is why we like you, Ehan,” Altair said with a smirk. “I assume you will keep this quiet?”

“I’ve kept it quiet for two years now. I don’t see why that would change when that would jeopardize my position.”

“Well said,” Altair said. “You may go.”

“Safety and peace, Master,” Ehan said and got up, leaving without saying anything else.

“I have something to ask,” Christopher asked, raising his hand a little.

“Yes?” Malik asked.

“If it isn’t too much to ask, Grand Dai. Who _does_ know? So I know who to beat to a pulp should they bring up your closeness?”

Malik rubbed his eyes a bit. “Its a fair question, Malik. Probing questions do no good if they know who to avoid.”

Malik sighed. “Well, you three,” he said. “Kamal, Haytham and Rauf. That is all so far as we know.”

“So then anyone else potentially is a threat?” Christopher asked.

“Yes,” Malik nodded. “I assume you are in the same opinion as Ehan on your duties?”

“Yes, sir. I like my duty and do not wish to lose it. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good. Jari?”

“Can one of you just kill me now?” Jari asked, hiding in his hood and looking like he wanted to go hide somewhere and got come out. Well at least Malik wasn’t the only embarrassed party here.

“No. We need you,” Altair said.

“I feel death would be better than his now.”

“You will remain silent?” Malik prodded.

“I… am not a hypocrite, sir,” he said, his face flushing, and squirmed a bit uncomfortably.

“Very good,” Malik said. He paused before adding, “I will bring you with me when I go to the meeting of the Dais.” Jari’s reply was to slap both his hands over his entire face with a miserable whine. “Well… I think everything has been said now,” Malik continued. “You are both dismissed. Jari, do not hurt yourself. We will be upset if you do.”

“Uhhhhg,” was Jari’s reply and he fled, nearly knocking his chair over. Christopher followed, albeit slower.

Then Altair and Malik were alone. Malik turned to Altair and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You useless-“ he was cut off when Altair silenced him by kissing him. “Do not think that makes you forgiven,” Malik said, still holding onto the front of Altair’s shirt. Altair’s response was just to kiss him again. “I could have figured out what to say,” another kiss. Malik’s grip loosened a bit. He tried a few more times to be irate with Altair and scold him but every time Altair just kissed him again and he soon lost the will to continue.

“At this point I think you are only keep this up just for the result,” Altair said after Malik’s seventh failed attempt to scold Altair. Malik scowled at him and maybe that was Altair’s intention the entire time because he just grinned and kissed him an eighth time.

—

When Malik came up from the desk at the end of the day of listening to people complain to him for the entire afternoon the last thing he expected to see was Zaki and Abyan in Altair’s room. Ehan didn’t even warn him when he just walked in and found the three of them sitting around a pot of tea, talking while Kamal sat with a small lap desk to take minutes of their talk. They all looked when Malik came in and Malik froze. What was going on? Why were they here? He just wanted to collapse a bit and pet the cats and lay down. That didn’t seem to be the plan tonight though.

“Grand Dai,” Zaki said. “So wondrous for you to join us.”

Malik cleared his throat. “Excuse me for interrupting. I just needed to speak with Altair.” Liar. The two old men didn’t need to know that though. “It can wait though if you-

“No no, please, come join us,” Abyan beckoned. “We were discussing Jerusalem. You lived there, perhaps you could offer some good insight on it.”

Malik came over slowly and sat down. Zaki poured him a cup of tea and they let Malik settle in. Malik sat upright and didn’t slouch though the really wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the rug and pillows and lay against Altair before dinner. It’d been a long day and he was not as sharp as he should have been for this strange meeting.”I assume we should bring young Malik up to speed then?” Zaki asked.

“Though I am sure he's in agreement,” Altair said. Unlike Malik Altair was totally relaxed, though wore his hood up, and had one of the brothers with their head in his lap.

“What is this meeting about?” Malik asked, sipping his tea. It was a bit tepid. They'd been at this a while. How had Altair tolerated it? Unless that was all he was doing, tolerating it and to hell with being professional and attentive. That sounded quite like Altair.

“Jerusalem’s next Dai,” Zaki said.

“Oh? Did you come up with good candidates?” Malik asked.

“Yes. And Altair systematically dismantled them all,” Abyan sighed like Altair was some annoying child with a good point an older man would have never thought of. “So we have no candidates now.”

Now Malik knew how Altair had tolerated the long meeting. He’d been able to tell them they were wrong and assert his will over them. Altair did love undermining old men. “I see,” Malik said, not bothering to keep the amusement from his voice. “And why did you reject them all, Altair?” Malik asked him.

“Because they do not fulfill my plan. And they are _old_.”

“Old men are not the enemy, Altair,” Zaki scolded.

“And yet I have killed so many corrupt old men. Strange how most young men are not evil, nor have I killed corrupt old women. So strange how the world works hmm?”

Zaki was not impressed. “Young men are not old enough to be corrupt and women do not have the heart for the schemes,” he said.

Malik said nothing and just sipped his tea slowly. He could tell by the way Altair was acting that he had a plan for this and none of them would like it. In fact they were all going to be outstandingly _against_ it. Not that it would matter. Altair would get his way and do what he wanted. Just as he always did. “You have not given us your own candidates for the Dai-ship,” Abyan said to Altair. “Since you were obviously never going to accept who we chose,” he almost sounded spiteful.

“We're not going to like what he is going to say,” Malik said with a bit of a sigh.

“You don't even know what I'm going to say,” Altair said.

“Yes but I know it will not be something we want to hear.”

“No. It is not,” Altair agreed. 

“Well then save it. No need for an argument to spoil before dinner,” Abyan said and looked at Kamal.

Kamal looked up in surprise. “Dinner?” he asked stupidly.

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Malik said. And he was starving. “Kamal fetch us dinner, make sure Navid gives you enough for all of us.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” and Kamal jumped to his feet and left.

“I will be back,” Zaki said and got up with a stiff groan. “Sitting for so long is no good for my bones.”

“Your bones are fine,” Abyan grunted.

“Ha. You could know,” Zaki knocked Abyan’s came with his foot. “Malik needed to speak with Altair, lets leave them alone a moment before dinner.”

“I guess,” Abyan grumbled. “If you need us to leave,” Abyan gave Malik a look.

“I would like some privacy with Altair to discuss some things before whatever unpleasant decision he's going to give us after dinner,” he admitted.

“Very well,” and Abyan used his cane to pull himself to his feet and followed after Zaki as they left.

“What did you need-” them Altair laughed when Malik just fell over and laid out in the pillows with a groan. “Ah. I see. Very important ,” Altair said slyly.

“Yes,” Malik grumbled as he stretched out. Karat immediately took interest in him and got up from where he was to walk over Altair’s lap to rub his face against Malik’s. Malik per him a bit before just laying there tiredly. Malik lay there for a bit before he looked up at Altair. “Tell me, so I do not get as angry when you tell those old men?”

“Are you even energetic enough?” Altair teased him.

“Shut up. Just tell me,” Malik said and tugged on Altair’s sleeve.

Altair said nothing. Then he sighed. “You were right. You're all going to be very upset with it,” he said. Malik waited. “I want to put a woman in Jerusalem.”

Malik rolled onto his back and put his hand over his face with a heavy groan. “ _Altair_.”

“It a good idea,” Altair said.

“It is foolish is what it is,” Malik said, glaring at him. “First a girl novice and now a female Dai? Who even will you chose? One of the whores?” he mocked.

“No,” Altair said.

“Then enlighten me.”

“A mother,” Altair said, “and a wife of our men. A perfect person who knows how to keep our secret and has the best interest of the Order at heart. She would not betray us or become corrupt because then she puts her husband and sons in danger of her treachery. And those of the would already protect her.

“The problem with Jerusalem is that the guards and everyone know we are there. So they hunt down an old man who is new to the city, has no family, and does little business but still does not close. They would never even know to look for a housewife.”

Malik stared at Altair and hated him. Hated him for coming up with yet another elegant solution to their basic problem. The part Malik disliked the most was that it was a good solution. Malik rubbed his face. “I…” He sighed. “You are right.”

“I often am.”

“Except when you're stupid.” Malik said harshly. “Just because you are right doesn't mean this isn't a stupid or bad idea. A woman Altair. You are going to put a delicate, emotional, woman in charge of our men,” he sat up some. “This could and probably will fail in a thousand spectacular ways.”

“It will not,” Altair said calmly. 

“And have you chosen someone?”

“No. We will, together.”

Malik glowered at him. Now he was already bringing Malik into this entire thing. “Fine,” he huffed and laid back down, this time more agitated.

“Really? You are not going to fight me on this?” Altair asked, looking at Malik in surprise.

“What is the point? You will get your way anyway. Or I will get mine and feel guilty about it later for being mean to you. So no, I am not going to fight you. I do not approve but I will not argue.”

He was surprised when Altair leaned down and kissed him. And like _really_ kissed him full on the mouth. That was nice. Malik kissed him back and went to taste Altair’s mouth. Altair pulled away then but he could see the amusement in Altair’s eyes. Malik hated when he did that. Made him angry and then made him forget to be angry. 

“I'm glad you trust me,” Altair said.

“Don't get used to it,” Malik grumbled and that made Altair chuckle.

Malik sat up when someone knocked. “Masters,” Kamal called and then opened the door after giving them a few seconds. Malik realized now he’d been doing that for a while so he didn't interrupt them and catch them in a compromising position like they had just been in. “Where are Zaki and Abyan?” he asked as he came and set their dinner down.

“About. Tell Jari to go find them,” Altair said. Malik wasted no time in eating his dinner. Maybe it was rude to start without the older men but Malik was starving. Kamal left to go tell Jari and returned. He ate what his dinner was, sucking it down so he could write while they talked instead of having to worry about food.

The old men came only a few minutes after and Altair greeted them. They sat and ate and they spoke of unimportant things. Things like needing to send their hunting hawks to clear some of the skies because too many of their pigeons were dying. Not to mention releasing some of their birds from duty as they were getting too old. They also spoke of good things like how well the Threshing had gone and the novices they'd brought and the journeymen they were training. Dinner was rather pleasant because of this.

Then dinner was close to being over. “Alright,” Abyan said, wiping his hands and mustache and looking Altair seriously. “What is this thing you will do in Jerusalem that Malik has already assured us none of us will like.”

Altair glanced at Malik. Malik just poured sauce over the remains of his lamb and made no comment. “I mean to change things,” Altair said. “And hopefully make our Dai last longer than these men of ours do. Someone the guards and our enemies will never expect and will never think we are bold enough to do.”

“Well, don't leave us in suspense, Altair,” Zaki said.

Altair knew his plan would be met by criticism and so he hesitated. “I plan to make the next Dai of Jerusalem a woman,” he said.

Zaki and Abyan stared at him, jaws slack and eyes wide. “What?” Abyan asked critically. “You must be out of your mind-” he was cut off when Zaki just started laughing. Like it was the greatest joke he had ever heard in his entire life. “Zaki this is no laughing matter,” Abyan scolded the old man.

“I know, I know,” Zaki said, chuckling still.

“That is a terrible idea,” Abyan told Altair.

“It is not the worst I've ever had,” Altair said.

“Then it is close!”

“Abyan, calm down,” Zaki said gently and touched his arm.

“Calm down? The Mentor wants to make us into fools, Zaki. A woman! A lady Dai. We will be a laughing stock. Our brothers will never accept it. I will not.”

“I am not asking you to,” Altair said. “I am telling you.”

“You tell us nothing but foolishness,” Abyan said viscously.

“I think you are foolish,” Altair said calmly but Malik could see he was getting irritated.

“Have some respect young man. I am your elder and I know that Azrael did teach you _some_ manners.” Altair said nothing but Malik knew that was the _wrong_ thing to say. “You have nothing to say to this Malik?” he turned to Malik accusingly.

“I will say that if you do not shut up then soon Altair will have one less advisor,” Malik said. “And that if I was Altair I would not allow such words said against me about a man who ruined my life. Especially not from an old man who’s time is short.”

Abyan deflated a bit at that, realizing he’d gotten a bit out of hand and had angered Altair quite a bit. He turned to Zaki for support. “You think this is foolish?”

“I do,” Zaki said. “But it is also spectacular.”

“Zaki!” Abyan protested. “You con’t possibly agree with this foolishness.”

“I think it is a matter that must be considered _carefully_ ,” Zaki said, folding his arms. “It is also something ridiculous I’d have expected from Azrael when he first became Mentor and told us all to become his Dais after he disrobed all those we replaced.”

“Do not liken me to that man,” Altair said shortly.

“Forgive me Altair,” Zaki said. “It is unavoidable at this point when you make the same sort of ballsy suggestions for how to change our Order into something new. First your Grand Dai,” he nodded at Malik, “Which I think is a fantastic idea for future Grandmasters. Then you changed our Threshing, even if I don’t agree that you should go out there, and now this. A female Dai. How scandalous,” but despite it all, Zaki was smirking. He was enjoying this. Malik squinted at Zaki. “So yes, I think comparing you to Azrael, who allowed us to marry, and gave us novice prefects to protect our young boys from cruel hall monitors and turned Masyaf into a bastion and not a prison, is very appropriate.

“But I understand why Abyan does not agree. Actions such as these are reckless and may end in our men getting angry. Which we do not want. Abyan, hush,” he said when Abyan opened his mouth to protest. “Please, I wish to hear your idea.” There was a glint in Zaki’s eye. Whatever the old man was thinking Malik didn’t know, but he seemed to have some other insight to the entire thing. It was kinda annoying.

Altair seemed genuinely surprised by what Zaki said and even a little uneasy. He didn’t speak right away and instead glanced at Malik from under his hood. Malik just gave him a look. Go on. Altair licked his lips before telling Zaki and Abyan what he’d told Malik.

“Ah, I see,” Zaki said, taking it very seriously.

“You can’t really think one of our men would play second to his own wife do you?” Abyan challenged. 

“Depending on how old they are, yes, probably,” Zaki said thoughtfully. “Those older than Altair and Malik here would remember their fathers and such telling them how they _better_ appreciate their wives and that they even get the opportunity to have them.”

“Yet those men are old, and as Altair has said; unfit,” Abyan barely didn’t sneer.

“Hmmm, yes, that does pose a problem,” Zaki agreed. “What about a widow-

“Zaki! I can’t believe you are going along with this mad idea,” Abyan snapped.

“Abyan,” Zaki reached over and grabbed Abyan by his long, well kept beard, and pulled him closer. Malik’s eyes widened and he looked at Altair. Altair couldn’t believe what he was seeing either. Neither of them had seen this side of the well mannered ex-Dai of Acre and Zaki’s eyes were hard and fierce. “Did we not both vote for Altair two years ago?”

“Yes,” Abyan said while wincing.

“And did we not have an agreement?” What agreement? Zaki and Abyan had an agreement? Malik wanted to know so badly but he knew unless he pried it out of Zaki’s own head that would never happen.

“Not about stupidity- ow!” he yelped when Zaki yanked his beard.

“Did we not agree?” Zaki said again.

“We did,” Abyan growled.

“Good. I’m glad we are in agreement. Now get your foot out of your mouth and experience the present, not the past of our dead friend.”

Abyan took a deep breath to calm his anger. “Very well,” he said tightly. 

Zaki immediately let him go and turned back to Malik and Altair as if nothing had happened. Abyan retreated to rub his face. “Now, like I said. Perhaps instead of a married woman a widow would be better? If nothing else Abyan raises a good point. Our men are prideful and petty. They would not like being second in command to their wife. So, a woman without a husband, but did have one. Preferably with children hmm?”

Altair was so stunned by what had just happened he couldn’t find his voice. Malik turned to Altair, “Did that just actually happen?” he asked Altair, still unable to believe Zaki had just done that.

“I think so,” Altair said softly.

Zaki laughed again and Abyan looked bitter. “You do not know Zaki if you are surprised by this,” Abyan grumbled. “He’s a mean old man when he wants to be.”

“Says the old man stuck in the old ways,” Zaki said.

“You were always his favorite,” and Zaki glared at Abyan for that. His favorite? Who’s favorite? Malik’s best guess was Azrael. Zaki had been Azrael’s favorite Dai? “Not surprising you do this.”

“Quiet, Abyan. Its unbecoming.” Malik was lost. These two were talking about something else only they were privy to and leaving Malik and Altair totally out of the conversation. They were wily old men too and not actually saying what they were talking about which was completely infuriating. “I am thinking of the Order.”

“Course you are.”

Zaki punched Abyan in the arm, which Malik would associate with some of his younger men when they’re friends would say something stupid. “Now, may we continue the _actual_ conversation?” he asked Abyan.

“I suppose. Though I have nothing more to say on the matter I have not already said. It is madness and stupidity and likely to fail. But I see I am outnumbered here. Even if I did vote for a Grand Dai specifically to keep our Mentor from doing things like the last one was prone to do,” he sent Malik a dark look.

“Altair is my superior,” was all Malik said. Abyan full on glared at him. They all knew that that wasn’t really true and that Malik could make and force Altair to do all sorts of things. Could be the only one who’d stand any chance of actually stopping Altair from electing a woman as a Dai. He’d decided to just not give himself the headache or mental strain of fighting Altair this time. He had other things to worry about than this anymore. Mainly keeping the Order from turning to anarchy from Marcus, or just going bankrupt and being unable to buy his men food.

“Of course,” Abyan said and said nothing more.

“How will you select her?” Zaki asked, directing them back on track.

“The same way we select our other Dai I suppose,” Malik said. “Based on her ability,” he glanced at Abyan who was _straining_ to not say something rude. The old man stayed quiet. “Though it will be more difficult to do so since she will have less of the skills we desire than our own men.”

“You would be surprised how useless most men are when they are elected to the Daiship,” Zaki said, fingering his beard. “They panic and get flustered their first few weeks or months. She will be no different I assure you. Who will train her? I assume you won’t just throw her into a position like a Daiship without training?”

“You will,” Altair said. “You are the best qualified here with so many years of being under a Dai under your belt. And if you suggest a widow than she cannot go alone. A young woman alone in a big city without a man around will still raise many questions and I do not wish for the Order to be known for letting their womenfolk get murdered as well.”

“Ah yes,” Zaki nodded wisely. “She will need a man with her. Someone who will not undermine her authority and will be able to offer help when needed and intimidate our men into obedience for the first few years to obey her. Or at the very least be her proxy in front of them since many will not take her seriously.”

“Someone _with_ a wife,” Malik said. “I do not want further complications to this.” That made Zaki chuckle. “Most of our single men are lonely, things we do not need mixing with a widowed Assassin’s wife.”

“True enough. So a widow, and her guard then.”

“We could just establish a family unit in Jerusalem,” Altair said. “Our vaults are more full than they were last year. We could afford a house and not just a shop for the Dai. The guard could bring his wife and any daughters or young sons he has and the Dai would be his ‘sister’. The guards and our enemies would never see them.”

“Ah, Altair, that is a very good idea,” Zaki told him.

“He would have to send his sons to Masyaf during the Threshing when they came of age,” Malik said.

“That is nothing new,” Zaki said. “Our common spies and ears in various cities sometimes do that. Many of my spies in Acre who were not ours already would send their second or third sons to us regularly. So they would make something of themselves and would grow strong if they could not afford them.”

“And it would stop the questions of ‘why do your sons remain with you’,” Malik put in.

“Yes, this is good. Heh. Jawad would die right here before us if we knew we planned to replace him with a woman,” Zaki chuckled a bit menacingly.

“I think any of our men would,” Abyan said.

“Zaki,” Malik said, the old man ‘hmmd’ but was thinking deeply on other things. “Why did you agree so easily?”

Zaki stopped twirling his beard and looked at Malik, then looked at Altair, then back at Malik. “Because I think it is right,” he said. Malik refrained from huffing. He was lying. Zaki couldn’t lie like Altair could lie, and Malik knew he was. He had some motive that moved his hand and guided his decisions beyond just simple reason.

“Very good,” Malik said.

“So then we’re in agreement on this plan? Save for Abyan of course,” Zaki added.

“Yes,” Altair nodded.

“I will draw up a list of widows and their potential guards.”

Next to them Abyan sighed laboriously. He crossed his arms sternly. “Since I have no choice in this, or say, I may at least suggest less stupidity to this.”

“Ah, you’ve come around,” Zaki teased.

Abyan scoffed, “Please. I think it is a foolish enterprise. A _woman_ Dai. But I will not let your scribe make the record that I let you roll into this blindly. So I suggest that as Altair said, we install a family there. An _actual_ family. Many of our men have sisters, cousins. A widow can remarry and praise be to him Muhammad has laid down that a man may take as many wives as he is able; but that is problematic for what we want. A widow will not marry her brother, or her first cousin, or even a second cousin.”

“So brother and sister,” Altair said. He chuckled and then looked at Malik, “Brother and sister working together hmm?” he practically leered.

“Shut up Altair,” he growled. Altair was referring to Mika’s twins. “These situations are completely different.”

“For now,” Altair smirked. “That is good advice Abyan. You and Zaki should take that into consideration and bring us your results.” Abyan grumbled but was glad they’d finally listened to his wisdom.

“Anything else we must discuss now?” Zaki asked. “The candle burns low and us old men are not ones to stay up all night,” he motioned to himself and Abyan. “Not if we are to pour over clerk script all day tomorrow.”

“I do not think anything else needs to be said,” Malik said. “We are all in agreement, if under protest, of what must be done. Regardless we need to find this woman quickly and train so she may take her place in Jerusalem before the next meeting of the Dais.”

“Ah, yes. It is in Jerusalem this year isn’t it,” Zaki nodded sagely.

“Yes.”

“She must be better than them,” Altair told Zaki. “Whoever we decide, you must make her _better_ than what a first or second year Dai would be. If she is not they will humiliate her and she will not have their respect.”

“She will not have their respect regardless,” Abyan grunted.

“Well then she will have less,” Altair snapped.

“We will do well by her,” Zaki promised. “Now let us adjourn and Abyan and I will come in two days time with your selection Grandmaster, Grand Dai.”

“Good,” Malik nodded.

“You, scribe, help me and Abyan up,” Zaki ordered Kamal who was still writing, his fingers covered in ink from his rapid short hand notes. Kamal’s head jerked up, eyes wide in surprise. “C’mon now. Don’t just stare novice.”

Kamal jumped to his feet and helped ease Zaki to his feet. He helped Abyan next and handed the old Dai his cane. “May we borrow your scribe, tomorrow, Altair?” Abyan asked him.

“For?” Altair asked, cocking his head at them.

“Young eyes read faster than old ones, and no one can learn of this till the deed is done and we have a new Dai.”

“Yes, you have use of him tomorrow after breakfast,” Altair said.

“Grandmaster-“ Kamal started to whine.

“You should be honored Kamal,” Malik said. “Zaki and Abyan are some of the wisest men in the fortress. Maybe you could learn a thing or two. Perhaps about wording, and understanding how to say things without spilling secrets to everyone?” Malik raised his brows at Kamal and the young man blushed. Malik still was not over Kamal basically confirming to their door guards about Altair and Malik’s relationship and Jari had not been pleased when he’d found of Kamal’s betrayal either. Malik couldn’t do much to punish Kamal, not really, nothing either he nor Altair would tolerate. But being the scribe and errand boy of two old men like Zaki and Abyan? Punishment found. “They would have much to teach you.”

Kamal looked at the two old men, they were both a head shorter than him. Malik knew he grimaced even as he bowed. “I will see you after breakfast, sirs.”

“Ah, so well behaved,” Zaki said.

“If only all novices were so well mannered. Altair. Malik,” Abyan said. The old men chuckled when Altair and Malik both glared at him.

“Goodnight,” Zaki said and the two of them left. Kamal immediately went back to his writing.

“That went… well,” Malik said.

“Yes, it did,” Altair said and went to open the shutters. Once he did the kittens poured into the room to roam about and rub against everyone seeking attention. “You put their food in Malik’s room?” he asked Kamal as he sat down again.

“Yes, sir,” Kamal said, not looking up.

“Good.”

Malik laid down and grunted when two cats walked over him. Adha ended up laying down on his hip while Seif decided that his loose sleeve was a perfect toy to bat at. “Master,” Kamal asked after a while of writing and Malik just relaxing.

“Hmm?” Altair asked.

“Do you think this’ll work?”

“What will work?” Altair asked.

“This female Dai? Do you really think she’ll last longer than a man?”

“Kamal,” Altair said, “what is the average tenure of a Dai in Jerusalem before they are found and killed?”

Kamal winced, “Four years.”

“All she has to do is beat the average. If she does, I consider it a success. Then, any more, and we can rub it in everyone’s faces that not even _most_ men can live in Jerusalem as long as a woman.”

“I suppose,” Kamal nodded.

“Who knows, if this goes well, there may be more.”

“Don’t push it Altair,” Malik growled and punched his leg. “You have Dhiya and now this. Allah does not always smile upon the foolish and powerful.”

“Yes, but he does favor those who help themselves, Malik. Which is what I am doing. Helping my people, and helping myself.”

“We will see.”

“You sound like you wish her to die,” Altair challenged.

“No,” Malik said. “I am just being realistic.

“You sound like Abyan.”

“Abyan was not wrong. People will be angry Altair. Men will disobey and disagree and you will have to do things you do not wish to to make them obey.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Malik rolled onto his back and Adha meowed in protest when she was disrupted. “What will you do when our men do not obey her? When they refuse to heed her help, if they do not listen to her proxy? What will you do to our men who resist?”

“I will punish them,” Altair said simply.

“And how will you do that? What punishment is so great and thorough that it will change their minds on listening to a woman?”

“Our dungeons are empty,” Altair said and Malik looked at him in surprise. Kamal was shock still, staring. “Those who go against the will of leadership are traitors to our Order. Traitors do not deserve gentle thoughts. Our brothers in the dungeons complain to me often you know?”

“They do?” Malik asked.

“Oh yes. Azrael would take me down there sometimes. ‘This is where we do our worst work Altair,’ he told me, ‘this is where we keep the monsters. Where not even the Shadow protect you and the Creed has no meaning.’ He would let me talk to them and they would laugh and joke about this prisoner, or that prisoner.”

“He did what?” Malik sat up eyes a bit wide. He’d never heard of such a thing. “And what? It was some sort of sick field trip?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Altair said. “He did it when I was misbehaving. Or when it escaped me. Remember the time I killed that boy in training?”

“Boy? Altair you killed three boys.”

“Right,” Altair said but Malik said he didn’t remember. Murder was irrelevant to him. “When I became hard to manage Azrael took me there and told me ‘I’ll leave you down here next time, Altair.’ Though he did not mean as a prisoner.”

“Then what did he mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Altair asked, cocking his head at Malik. “I would have been a dungeon brother instead of a contract killer. They train their own, and do not allow outsiders aside from an imam only sometimes and the Grandmaster. No instructors, no normal weapon training. Their training is pain, torture. They always scared me, and the threat of becoming one was enough to straighten me out for a while.” Malik was unnerved looking at Altair. His amber eyes were bright, but not like when they flashed gold. He didn’t seem himself, but rather like after he’d just come from a fight, not out of it, but hyper focused. Malik hated when he was like that because it was the only time Altair was scary. Probably the scariest part was that Altair’s lips were slightly curved upward, just the barest hint of some mad smile.

Altair turned to Kamal and the boy started so bad he knocked over his inkwell. “Do not write any of that down. Ever. Understand me?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

“O-of course, s-sir,” Kamal stammered.

“Good. As I said,” his face changed, calmed and cooled but Malik was still worried. “They complain to me all the time. ‘Altair we are bored.’ ‘Altair tell the Grand Dai to take some prisoners.’ ‘Altair when will we get a new student?’ ‘We haven’t had any fun since that bully boy two years ago,’” Malik swallowed at that. “If our men disobey too much in the face of the change in times and will not listen to the new Dai, I do not have any problem sending them down there. It will only take a few, and the rest will fall in line.” Then Altair got up, “I’m going to bed early,” he said like he hadn’t just given some disgusting revelation. Malik was speechless. “Clean this up before you leave,” he told Kamal, meaning their dinner.

“Y-yes Master,” Kamal swallowed.

“Good.” Altair picked Sawsan up and went into the bedroom. Malik stared after him.

“Grand Dai,” Kamal said.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps this is too personal but. _How_ do you like that?” he asked in a terrified whisper. “I think I sort of soiled myself,” he added but Malik was barely listening.

“He isn’t normally like that,” Malik heard himself say. Altair hadn’t acted like this in years really. Upset yes. Angry yes. But not even when he’d murdered Abbas had be seen Altair like this. There had been no _joy_ when he’d killed Abbas, just like there’d been no joy with killing Azrael. The last time Malik could remember Altair like that was when they’d been sworn in. He’d been so happy and invigorated after spending weeks and weeks at a desk without being able to fight or kill anyone. Could Altair slip into that just _speaking_ of it? But he hadn’t even spoken of killing. Just… torture.

“I know. But aren’t you scared?” Kamal asked.

Malik blinked. He remembered all the anger and hate Altair had had for him. How much he must have despised and hated and been disgusted in Malik three years ago after that night in Jerusalem. When he’d arrived for the funeral it’d been the only time Malik had ever worried that Altair would actually kill him. If he wouldn’t kill Malik then then Malik had to assume that there was nothing he could do that would make Altair kill him in the future. “No,” Malik said. “We might argue and fight but he would never lay a hand on me. Why would I be scared?”

“You are a braver man than I,” Kamal said.

“Well that is obvious,” Malik said. “Take care of this. I was privacy,” Malik motioned to the dishes. Kamal nodded, got up and took his things to his room and came back to collect the dishes. He put them all on the big tray and took them away.

Malik lay back, pensive. There was a lot to think about, and he didn’t want to think about any of it. He did stay up a bit to read some of the book he was reading. It was one that was written in both Arabic and Greek so people could see the original and the translation. Malik was using it to try and help himself learn Greek with… limited success. He did that until his head hurt before getting up. He doused the lamps and candles and went to the bedroom.

Despite what he’d told Kamal, that he was not afraid, he did hesitate at the door. Then he told himself he was an idiot and opened the door. When Malik closed the door he froze when Altair opened his eyes and they were golden and strange in the darkness. “Coming to bed?” Altair asked when Malik didn’t move for several seconds.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” Altair said and a strange chill went down Malik’s spine. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so ill at ease. He came to bed after Altair _all_ the time, sometimes waking Altair by accident and seeing his golden eyes. But somehow, after what Altair had told him, the entire thing felt more dangerous. It was totally stupid.

“Come to bed, Sawsan is hogging your side.”

Malik still felt like the entire experience was strange. He went and grabbed his night gown and took off his clothes and pulled the gown on over his nakedness. When he turned back around Altair’s eyes were just watching him. Perhaps because he was awake and his eyes were alert was what made Malik uncomfortable. Usually Altair was half asleep when he looked at Malik with those eyes and he wrote them off as his mind playing tricks on him. As Malik moved through the room Altair’s eyes tracked him and Malik was keenly aware of it.

Finally he got into bed, being mindful of Sawsan who was not pleased to be pushed off Malik’s side of the bed but did get up to go over to Altair’s other side. “Everything all right?” Malik asked. Altair looked up at him and up close his eyes were even brighter and golden.

“Yes,” Altair said. “Now it is,” then he closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around Malik’s waist. That surprised Malik for some reason. “Goodnight, _habibi_ ,” he yawned.

“Goodnight,” Malik said, hoping he didn’t sound forlorn like he thought he sounded. He must not have because Altair did not notice. Instead Altair just pressed his face into Malik’s side and Malik knew he was asleep quickly by the even sound of his breathing.

Malik had a bit more difficulty falling asleep and when he did he had dreams of angels with five heads of leopards and lions and covered in a thousand golden eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah and this is the end of Part 2  
> aaaaaay~


	32. A Book Full of Worms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been sitting on this chapter for _four years_. Four years I've had this in the wings. Waiting. Do you have any idea how maddening that is? To sit on something like this for four years and knowing that its going to ruin... everything, and change a lot of stuff for characters and the story? Like that's how far away I've planned this story, that I knew that this was going to happen four years ago. At least some of it. Other parts were a surprise even for me. But this was always coming and I hope the excerpts of Malik's brief readings of it have peaked your interest in what is in that journal Altair is always reading now.

1151

**spring**

‘Snow again. You’d think we’d had enough of it by now. Being sent to Jerusalem, I think I made the Master angry.’

‘Definitely made him angry!’

‘Saved a woman and her husband outside a small town from bandits. They insisted on repaying me. I had a good dinner and a real bed to sleep in tonight.’

‘Zaki made me help him teach novices today. In the snow. I don’t know if I want to murder him or not for this injustice. He threw a snowball in my face… definitely murder him.’

‘Aleppo. I am weak and I don’t care.’

‘Went to Arsuf for a man. He sang before I killed him, the Master needs to hear what he has to say. His words scared me.’

‘The Master said he’d punish me if I breathed a word of what the man said to anyone. But I cannot stay silent, not when he said nothing. I spoke of it with Zaki, at least Zaki can keep a secret. He was scared too. This isn’t good.’

‘Qais gets on my nerves.’

‘Made a snow fort and buried Qais in it. Jawad and Zaki helped. It was fun.’

‘Training novices with Zaki again. I think he does it to annoy me. He says he does it because I’m the best.’

‘There’s a little novice who keeps looking at me. His name is Hamal, he’s got a big smile. Very cute.’

‘Thaw is here. Thank god.’

‘Can an atheist thank god?’

‘Master gave me guard duty down the mountain. Bandits were harassing one of our towns. I don’t know why there are not town guards, they need protecting too! I’m beginning to think the Master is an idiot.’

‘Acre. Met a man. I don’t know if I like him or not. He beat me in a fight. I think not?’

‘Went to the docks, lots of people entering the city. I fed gulls bits of guts from a man I killed. They didn’t notice the difference.’

‘On a mission with Stephan. It’s good, we work together well. We have a plan.’

‘Stephan is dead. I barely escaped.’

‘The doctors berated me for being careless as they fixed me up. I’m still numb about Stephan. He was my friend and held us together.’

‘Zaki visited me in the ward. It was good to see him. Very good.’

‘Better now. Bed ridden for too many weeks. I’m weak. Time to train.’

‘The pain lingers when I sleep. I need to be stronger.’

‘Master is tired of me ‘lazing about’ while I get myself back into form. He’s sending me to Tyrus. The man is the sole of a foot.’

‘Killed a man in Tyrus. He begged before I slit his throat. I did not even need to. He angered me. I remind myself the first tenet, it does little. He deserved to die.’

‘Many Templars in this city. I can see them like they’re shouting it from the rooftops. The corruption sickens me.’

‘Met a man, I liked him. He gave me some bread and tea after I fell into his garden by accident. He made me help him weed his garden for breaking his big flower pot when I fell. It was good.’

‘Missed going to Aleppo again. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad. Maybe both?’

‘Sometimes I wish something would eat the sun. It’s too hot today for this sort of work.’

‘Killed another man I didn’t need to. He was about to rape a Jewish girl. The sight of his blood was a pleasure. I was invited for dinner; declined.’

‘Aleppo.’

‘I was strong.’

‘Novices are cute. The little ones especially. They make me wish our Order did not have rules about siring children.’

‘I saw Jawad today. He was angry with me. He should be. I told him and Qais it wasn’t my fault. Neither of them believe me. Like it was my fault Stephan was killed. I miss him too. The bastards.’

‘Thank god for Zaki. I might have actually killed Jawad today.’

‘I think I sin too much. What happens to sinners when they do not believe in consequences for their actions? One can only repeat ‘Allah is a lie’ before even they start to doubt themselves amid so many believers. I miss Stephan and his Christian ways all the more.’

‘I… was very weak. This is going to destroy me.’

‘I am dead. She is pregnant. It is mine. She looked too pleased for me to be angry. This will not end well.’

‘I don’t know what to do. I could very well be killed for this.’

‘I knew this would be my undoing. Damnit it all to hell. No one must know of this. Least of all the Master. He does not take well to insubordination. The old bastard.’

‘Zaki knows something is wrong. I can’t tell him. He’d never forgive me.’

**summer**

‘Dai in Jerusalem is dead with his three rafiqs. He lasted two years. No one is happy about it.’

‘What the man in Arsuf told me eats at me. Zaki tells me not to worry, I can see he is though. I do my best not to bring it up, it’s upsetting.’

‘I still haven’t told him what’s wrong.’

‘Caught myself humming the song my father used to sing to me. I will never be able to do the same to my own son or daughter.’

‘We went down to the lake. It was relaxing and good in the hot sun. There need to be more days like this. Friends and play. What more could one ask for?’

‘I swear one day I will kill Jawad. He brought up Stephan again. I nearly drew my sword on him. Qais and Zaki stopped me. I wish I had worse friends sometimes.’

‘I miss Stephan.’

‘Sent to Qamishli. Fucking desert.’

‘Why anyone would live out here I haven’t a clue. These people are crazy. It’s hot even at night, my horse can’t run at all as I don’t want to kill her.’

‘Aleppo. Her stomach is big now. She was happy to see me. All I feel is guilt and dread. Someone is going to find out about this. The husband still thinks it’s his.’

‘She wants to know my name. I keep telling her it’s better if she doesn’t know. It is. She wouldn’t give me away on purpose. But it could slip. I still don’t tell her. She insists I knows her’s at least. I can’t even write it, my hand shakes too much.’

‘Glad to be home. Aleppo shook me.’

‘Master is keeping me busy. Arsuf, Tyrus, Homs, Tyrus again, Latakia, and Tyrus again. I’ve been to Tyrus more in the past few months than home it seems!’

 

**fall**

‘Acre. I met a man. The one the man in Arsuf spoke of. He was interested in me. I kept my distance but didn’t kill him like I should have. Lets hope the Master doesn’t find out.’

‘She’s due soon.’

‘Zaki is worried about me. I almost killed a novice today, it was an accident. That’s why he’s worried. I don’t have accidents. I told him I was tired.’

‘Convinced Jawad to give me his mission to Aleppo. Said I was tired of going to Tyrus. He laughed.’

‘Stupid of me to go. I actually cried when I saw her. I’m still trying to figure out why.’

‘Murjanah.’

‘I will find a way to get around this. I will not lose my life for this or kill my own child. Time to change how I do things.’

‘Bandit raids on towns are increasing. We spend a lot of time down the mountain. They leave when we show up, scared of us, but as soon as enough of us go they return.’

‘I’m trying to gain the Master’s favor.’

‘The Master is a surprisingly simple man. He wants certain things. Obedience. I give it. He gives trust.’

‘I’m being sent away during the Threshing. It pisses me off.’

‘Acre again. I seek out the man. Gérard. He’s amused by me.’

‘I have a task, if he wants to take me seriously. More men are coming tomorrow by boat. I must pick out a particular one, bring him to him. The man’s name is Robert. I know little else. He’s seeing if I’m a fool.’

‘Robert was barely more than a boy! But Gérard didn’t make me a fool. He stuck out like a wolf in a flock of sheep.’

‘Home.’

‘Zaki is concerned. I tell him nothing. I know he’s just worried, he knows I’m under pressure, doing things I perhaps shouldn’t. I am though, to save my life, and my child’s.’

‘I need to stop this.’

‘Sent to Latakia for a man. Somehow Gérard is there, like he knew I was coming. He wants me to show Robert some tricks.’

‘The boy is an idiot.’

‘It only occurred to me now that I’m on my way home that I’m a traitor. It does not feel like it. The Order is as rotten as the Templars. We want the same things. Maybe it is Gérard talking, he did quite a bit of that in Latakia.’

**winter**

‘Homs, Hama, Tyrus, Homs. I go and there is death.’

‘The new Dai in Jerusalem is already dead. The Master has sent six men, there will be a lot of death in Jerusalem shortly.’

‘I think the Master trusts me. Good.’

‘It was warm today. Some of us went down to the lake. It was almost too cold to swim.’

‘Zaki should hate me for what I do. I do. He doesn’t stop me and I cannot stop myself.’

‘Met Gérard again. He was in Daraa. He wanted to know what I was there for. I gave him a name and it amused him somehow. Robert follows him like a shadow. I think Robert is his son. I don’t ask.’

‘The first snow at Masyaf last night. It will be gone before the morning is over. The novices went outside and had a snowball fight. Zaki and I watched.’

‘Going to kill Jawad and Qais for this.’

‘Okay so I didn’t. They’re so lucky Zaki and Raid like them.’

‘It snowed hard last night, and it’s still snowing. Classes are inside.’

‘The novices barely finished shoveling the snow out of the courtyard when the Master sent me to Acre.’

‘Gérard again. He seems to appear where I am. He says it’s in his best interest to keep tabs on ‘his Assassin’. I don’t know how I feel about that.’

‘I manage to convince someone to give me their mission to Aleppo. I’ve been stuck in Masyaf a while, they understand and give it to me.’

‘It’s been several months since I was here. Winter is almost over.’

‘I have a daughter. She’s tiny and beautiful. Her name is Eve. I have never been in love, not even with her mother. Not really. I am in love now. I won’t let anything happen to either of us.’

‘I still haven’t told Zaki.’

1152

**spring**

‘Talked with some of the Master’s other favorites. Some are being groomed for Mentorship. They’re all stupid.’

‘I need to get closer to the Master.’

‘I’ll be happy for the spring thaw. Winter is my least favorite season. The cold of night always lingers till morning and that doesn’t do well for the joints when you have to be active.’

‘Visited Stephan’s grave today. He’s been dead a year. Feels longer.’

‘I have not written in many weeks. Everything is very quiet.’

‘Sent to Jerusalem for an imam. What is this Order coming to?’

‘I didn’t kill him. We hide amid scholars and priests, I cannot kill someone we get help from. I told him to leave, and change his name. He was gone the next day. I brought back a feather soaked in dog’s blood. No one will know.’

‘The word that rings in my head as I ride home is damning. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.’

summer

‘Met Gérard again on the way to Acre. He told me he had a task for me if I wanted it. Better than the fetch quest the Master sent me on. I dare not write it here.’

‘I remind myself why I do this: Eve.’

‘I still have to tell Zaki. He’ll never forgive me. Or he could _tell_. Both options stay my hand. He knows it is something. I used to let him read my journals, we used to share one. This one I do not. I probably will no longer. The secrecy pains me, but it must be done. Until I can cleanse the Order of this rot, and I am free of the consequences of siring a child.’

‘Sent to Damascus. I barely returned before being sent to Aleppo. I don’t know how to feel about this. I am happy, but I am in pain. Going there will leave me in both and I both dread it and anticipate it like an addict to opium.’

‘Eve has gotten bigger. She’s beautiful, like her mother, but has my curly black hair. Luckily black hair runs in her family, as her husband doesn’t have it. The idiot. I tell her that. She laughs.’

‘When I’m in Aleppo I’m happy. When I leave I worry.’

‘Still haven’t told Zaki.’

‘Sent to settle a dispute between towns over a girl. They were about to enter a blood feud over the legitimacy of a virgin. My presence alone helped smooth things over. It was settled without bloodshed.’

‘I find Gérard in the strangest places it seems. He has me show Robert how to do things. He’s a good student, though shy.’

‘Robert is Gérard’s son, as I thought. It was funny when he slipped and called Gérard ‘papa’ by mistake and looked embarrassed.’

‘Templars allow their men to have children. Why can’t the Order? It makes me angry.’

**fall**

‘Threshing season is coming.’

‘When I ride to and from Masyaf I see people in the fields. The towns I pass have an air of both joy for the harvest and a dark cloud, knowing the Threshing is coming.’

‘Zaki is being sent to help gather boys. He said I was coming with him. I don’t say no.’

‘I need to tell him.’

‘Still haven’t. I’m afraid. Not of hurting him. I know it will. I am afraid he will tell, and what I may do to make sure he doesn’t.’

‘The tithe from Turkey just arrived. They’re all small and scared. They have nothing to fear from us.’

‘The first town is uninspiring. Zaki told me to just not speak after I scared some of the women. Bah.’

‘One boy. Just one. He’s seven, no father. He seemed almost happy to go with us. He’ll learn.’

‘The next town is better. Zaki picks three boys, two are brothers and one the father begged us to take, because he did not want his son to starve this winter. I’m disgusted with Masyaf, we could help these people.’

‘The last town is one boy. He has pale eyes, but a crooked grin. An orphan he says. I don’t quite believe him. It matters not.’

‘Tithe from our districts, Iran, Iraq and Alamut have arrived when we return. Still no word from Arabia. Threshing season is almost over.’

‘There are so many new children in the fortress. It’s like spring has come for Masyaf.’

‘Arabians arrived. They’re behind schedule. Two of their boys didn’t make it.’

‘Zaki is busy with getting the novices settled with the rest of the instructors. I think I should tell him while he’s busy.’

‘Perhaps not the best idea I’ve had. I told him. He beat me and I let him. I deserved it.’

‘Threshing season is over. We’re going back to normal.’

**winter**

‘Zaki still hasn’t spoken to me. He’s still angry with me.’

‘Sent to Homs. Glad to be away from Masyaf, the others give me the same look as Zaki though they don’t know why. They just know if I did something to piss Zaki off it must have been bad.’

‘Found Robert, without his father. He’s shot up a hand length. He’ll be huge when he’s older.’

‘It’s funny. He looks up to me (not literally) even though I’m not really a Templar. I’m playing at it, they can help me get what I want.’

‘I definitely sin too much. The boy didn’t deserve that. A sinner and a traitor. How quaint.’

‘Met Jawad on the road. He was going to Tarsus. He asked what I did to make Zaki so mad. I told him to butt out of my business. Otherwise it was a nice meeting.’

‘It was snowing when I got home.’

‘Apologized again.’

‘Douma. Tyrus. Aleppo.’

‘Every time I see Eve I forget everything bad that I do. My father named me after an angel, but it is she who is the angel. When I hold her in my arms all the blood on my hands is washed away. She recognizes my face, though I do not visit often, and makes noises at me when I hold her. I never want to let her go.’

‘Zaki is still mad no matter what I say. I did this to myself. I should have told him the moment I stopped her husband from beating her.’

‘The Master is pained in the mornings, his hands are arthritic. I went to the medical ward and got a cream. He was pleased when I gave it to him. I even helped sooth the ache.’

‘Met with Gérard again. Robert can’t even look at me. I sin too much.’

‘Gérard introduced me to a man named something de Naplouse. I can barely spell these fucking French names as it is. He has a little boy too and is a doctor.’

‘I hate the Templars for giving their men what the Order will not. We are the liberators and yet we are treated like kennel _dogs_.’

1153

**spring**

‘Aleppo with the intention of a kill. Eve is just over a year old. She’s more beautiful every time I see her. She says I have a funny face with my shaved face, her “father” wears a beard. I tell her so bad people can’t pull on it. Her mother is quick to point out that Eve pulls on her “father’s” beard all the time, sometimes to the point he gets angry.’

‘She still has no idea what I really do, though she asks. I can’t let her know, she’d be disappointed. I know she would. I couldn’t stand to have her look at me the way the doves look at us. They know we are murderers, sinners. I haven’t visited the doves in a long while, but I remember their eyes when they spread their legs for us. I tell her I protect people, like her, and she accepts that.’

‘I think the Master really likes me. He let me help him with some things at his desk. Organizing, because his knees hurt in the cold to be up and about doing so.’

‘Spring thaw. Thank god too, this winter was awful.’

‘I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said sorry to Zaki. His silence is enough to make me pound my head against the wall in frustration. He won’t even let me explain! If he did he’d understand. He would. Wouldn’t he?’

‘We all went to see Stephan’s grave. Qais lit incense. Two years, we all still miss him.’

‘Dai of Latakia passed away in his sleep. The Master will make one of his rafiq’s Dai no doubt.’

‘Master is sending me to Iran. I’m not happy about this.

**summer**

‘I’m stopping at Aleppo before going home. Iran is a hell of a country. Glad that mission is over.’

‘Eve is walking. She calls me uncle and it is good enough for me. I just want to hold her and keep her safe from everything.’

‘Zaki talked to me on his own free will. I think he’s decided to not be angry at me anymore. Or maybe it was because it was because the Master Instructor put us together for a class and he had to. I’m not pressing my luck regardless.’

‘Saw Gérard in Latakia. No Robert. He had me kill a man for him. He inspires more loyalty from me than the Master.’

‘Gérard is the second person I’ve told about Aleppo. He sees my problem, and told me I’m one of them. If the Order wishes me or them harm, the Templars will keep us all safe.’

‘The lines between of my allegiance is getting thin.’

‘Traitor. Traitor. Every time I meet Gérard I am a traitor. Every time I go to Aleppo I am a traitor. Allah smite me. But he will not, for Allah is a lie. That is my only hope. That my sins will not be weighed when I die. If they are, I will never see Paradise. Only the Pit.’

‘Helped the Master at his desk again. He had trouble writing today, so I wrote for him.’

‘Met Gérard again. My mission for the Master took longer than it should have, was doing things for the Templars. I feel no guilt in this.’

‘Today Zaki said he’d forgive me and I nearly spat out my lunch. On one condition. He gets to meet them. The look on my face made him laugh. It’s the first time I’ve done that in nearly a year. I’ve missed his laugh. Its so genuine and carefree for men like us.’

‘I don’t know how I’ll meet Zaki’s condition. He’s an instructor, and they’re in Aleppo. Thinking about it gives me a headache.’

‘Hama. The man I’m hunting is a slippery fish. It’s good to be distracted by work.’

‘Robert was in Hama, he had trouble talking to me. I am a very bad man. I didn’t hear him complain.’

‘While I was gone Zaki convinced the Master to give him a mission. I don’t know how, but he did. He hadn’t been on one in several years, he needs ‘help’ and I’m the one doing so. How did he do that?’

‘We’re in Aleppo. Zaki made her nervous, I’ve only ever come alone. But when there are two Assassins armed to the teeth in your home when your husband is gone it is enough to make any woman nervous. At least at first, but Zaki is nice and has a charming smile I will never hope to match. He met Eve and is in love with her as I am. I can see it in his eyes he understands now. He forgives me.’

‘I forgot Zaki had freckles on his back.’

‘We’ve spent several days dawdling here. I keep telling the Dai I’m hunting our mark but I’ve done very little of this. We’ve been very distracted. I can’t help it, all three of them are equally distracting and important to my time! I think we both actually forgot we’re here with an actual purpose for a few days.’

‘The Dai has grown impatient with us. Zaki shouldn’t be that much of a handicap to the mission, he says. I regret that this will end.’

‘I killed the man, Zaki watched, and took the feather. This was why he had me come, beyond Eve, because he knew I would do it and not judge him for his weakened stomach. It warmed me when he told me he liked seeing me covered in blood.’

‘I told Zaki of my plans with the Mentor tonight, on the journey back to Masyaf, though not the Templars. That is my secret that he would betray me for. He said it’s good I’m using the head on top of my shoulders for once. I made him pay for that comment. His complaints were ignored.’

**fall**

‘Met Gérard in Acre. Robert was there, he seemed pleased to see me. I ignored him. I have no use for the boy anymore. Bastard I am indeed.’

‘Robert is a head and a half taller than me now. He tried to force my hand but I beat him. He should know better than to pick fights with his betters. He walked away with an equally bruised ego and body for his trouble.’

‘Zaki is working with me to see my plan pan out. He knows how desk work works, I don’t, he’s teaching me.’

‘I hate numbers. Whoever invented them should be beaten with a boot.’

‘When I told Zaki that he told me a Muslim invented them. Well I feel foolish now.’

‘A riot in Aleppo burns a quarter of the city. The Master sends us in mass to help quench the riots and make sure the city does not take advantage of its people.’

‘I visited the house. The husband was there, she was not, Eve was asleep. I wanted to wait till he left but I didn’t have the time.’

‘I went again. She’s still not there.’

‘Visited the house of her father. Said I was a friend, worried after her. I don’t know how much he believed me but he must have not been in his right mind either and told me. He said she was dead, caught in the riots and fires.’

‘I can’t actually feel anything right now.’

1154

**spring**

‘I can’t remember what really happened last fall or winter. Spring is a blur for me and it’s almost over. I’ve killed a lot of men. So much blood. Zaki is making me write this. He’s the only reason I do many things still.’

‘She never knew my name.’

‘I left Masyaf without telling anyone. Not even Zaki. I think I said I was going out for a ride and just never returned. I went north, to Aleppo and I am not sure what I will find or do once I get there.

‘Eve is two. She lives with her mother’s husband, I can only watch from the outside. She is quieter than she used to be. She knows her mother is gone.’

‘He’s already remarried, his new wife is pregnant. She dotes on Eve and tries to take the place of her mother but Eve is too much of me. She does not have it. Her father disciplines her. Hits her and yells, tells her to be grateful she has a new mother. It fills me with blind rage but I cannot feel enough to move.’

‘I want to kill him.’

‘I think I will.’

‘I did.’

‘This was a stupid idea. I don’t know what to do now. I entered their home and slew him without thinking. I didn’t think any of this through. I spared his new wife though her screaming nearly changed my mind. Eve was the only one not afraid. ‘Uncle!’ she said when she saw me, even with my sword covered in her father’s blood. I have Eve. I have no idea what to do with her. I can’t go home with her. For now I am hiding. I am afraid again. So so very afraid. I cannot lose her too. I refuse.’

‘Found Robert in Homs. I said I needed to find his father. He deflected and deflected until I yelled and nearly beat him before he confessed. I do not have time for these games! I’m going to Acre. The Dai of Homs saw me and asked after me. I gave an excuse, a bad one. It will buy me time if nothing else.’

‘Eve is a good girl. She says she misses her omy. I tell her I do too. At night before she falls asleep I tell her about the stars, and about angels. She always falls asleep in my lap.’

‘Found Gérard. I confessed my deeds to him. He did not condemn me, he did not question why I had done what I’d done. I have never begged in my life but today I begged Gérard; help me. He is more merciful than the Mentor or Allah would ever be to me. I didn’t want to, but I gave Eve to him. Someone he can trust will look after her until my plan comes to fruit. She cried when I gave her to him but I promised I’d come back for her. I left before weakness took me.’

‘Returned home. The Mentor yelled at me for leaving without reason and gave me shit duty as punishment. I’m to work with the servants in cleaning chamber pots and linens of the dove rooms. Both equally foul smelling duties. A price I pay willingly to keep Eve safe.’

‘Zaki was worried over me. I told him what I did to Eve’s father but the confession of my dealings with the Templars refuse to come out. Instead I lie and say Eve is with her mother’s family. I expected him to scold me. He didn’t. Bless him. When I was weak he sat with me and did not judge me. This is the weight of my soul, and it is being judged now. These next few years will see me to my paradise, or to my damnation. I dare not hope for either.’

End of journal

—

There wasn’t a part of Altair that wasn’t shaking. He could barely even hold himself together. It was like his body was trying to shake itself apart or rip apart at the seems. He managed it though, somehow. Sheer force of will and stubbornness. He couldn’t show Malik this weakness, this torment, and instead held Sawsan tightly (but not _too_ tightly) as he sat in the garden, around the corner and out of sight, trying to be as quiet as possible. It didn’t take Malik long to go to sleep, turning out a good number of the lamps on his way. The lattice was already locked, to keep Altair in. As Malik made his way to his bed, bustling a bit before going to the back, Altair did not move, barely daring to breathe. He waited and it felt like a life time.

Only once he was sure Malik was asleep behind the back door did he lurch to his feet and vomit into the grate by the fountain so it didn’t flood. He shook harder as he hurled. Heaving so hard he thought his lungs and stomach would come up next. He’d been holding it in since Malik had released him but the shaking hadn’t left him, or the need to throw up. He’d just been waiting for Malik to leave, so he could be weak on his own time without Malik to see him and judge him. He’d been waiting so Malik didn’t have to know how great the wound he’d carved into Altair’s soul actually was. He’d torn into Malik’s plenty, with Kadar, his missing arm, failing them both in Solomon’s Temple, failing Malik when they were young when all he’d wanted to do was help Altair. There was a hole in the shape of Altair’s knife in Malik’s soul. It had to be almost fair Malik make a few holes in his was well?

His sides ached from the retching. He managed to rip out the stitches by the time he was done. Good. Once he’d gotten rid of everything from his stomach he could get alone he put his finger down his throat and threw up the last chunks. All that was left now was bile. Altair slumped down onto the tiled garden floor, sweating and breath uneven. He laid there for a short while, shivering and shaking.

Once he could function a bit more he pushed himself back up to his knees and reached for the fountain and washed his mouth of bile, spitting it into the grate. He did this several times and it seemed to take all his energy to do so. He was weary and wanted to sleep but the crawling feeling he felt all over forbid him. Not yet. Not until he was clean.

Having rid his body of the taste of bile Altair stripped off all his clothes and scoured his body with the water. Even his own hands brought up sick and disgusted feelings and he wanted to vomit, but there was nothing more. He’d purposefully expelled everything in his gut because he knew it’d be bad. He knew himself well enough to know these things and that some things were unavoidable. He dug a few bloody furrows into his skin from his nails and red trickled down his skin along with the water, pooling up on the tiled floor of the garden. His hands shook badly as he washed at his privates, doing so quickly to avoid contact as much as possible. He lamented that even pissing would be a trial for a while. Any contact sent his stomach just _heaving_.

Altair’s breaths came in heaves, like it was hard to take in air and he shuttered, his vision blurring. It took him several moments to realize what was going on because it hadn’t happened in a long time. Not since he was a kid. Since Aaban.

He was crying.

He reached up and touched his face, his fingertips came away salty when he tasted it, to make sure. He stared at his hand, which was still shaking and now could feel tears running down his face in two heavy streams.

He jerked when he heard something, fear for a moment curled around his heart that Malik was awake again and was so relieved when it was Sawsan. She was standing next to him. Sh mewed, looking up at him with big yellow eyes worriedly. “Oh,” he said, and it sounded like the first thing he’d said in a long time. She mewed again and he slid down to the floor and picked her up. “Shhh,” he said softly. She licked his cheek, tasted salt, and licked at his face more.

Altair told himself to get up. Get up and get dressed. But he couldn’t actually move. He was stuck there, holding Sawsan and then he was bowed over his own knees, forehead on the tile, sobbing as silently as he could, body heaving but hardly making a single noise.

How did this happen?

He stayed like that for a long time, until he was still, until he couldn’t feel his legs, and the cool night air had settled on his skin, drying it out. There were a few places it felt sticky and pulled, from where he’d bled. Sawsan was asleep beneath him, curled up against one of his arms, a single warm spot, her fur soft against his rough skin.

Slowly he unfolded himself and sat back on his calves and stared up through the lattice. There were a million stars out and to Altair’s eyes they were a million different colors, most he didn’t know what to call. All the air left his body and he closed his eyes slowly, opening them just as slowly.

He pushed it all down and away. All of it. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He was above this. He wasn’t going to be broken because of this. He was strong and could do this. He had no reason to cry, because this, in a long line of things that befell Altair, was payment for his sins. He’d committed so many now, eventually they’d catch up with him. And now they were. They were doing so rapidly to the point he had trouble keeping up with them. All his failings, all the times he’d taken cut into others more deeply than he’d known. All his sins were coming up to be paid.

And they were paid.

He owed nothing to anyone, because the universe had just ripped the last piece of him away and claimed it as it’s own. He had nothing now. He was nothing. His sins were paid and he and the universe, and he and everyone he’d ever wronged, they were equal now and the sum was zero. Anything that happened now would be new debt.

He stood and let the blood return to his limbs, leaving Sawsan gently on the ground. He pulled on his robes but couldn’t even _look_ at the pants and picked Sawsan up. He dropped down to the pillows and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, which was difficult when all he could think about was the _anger_ in Malik’s eyes, and the harsh touch of his hand. All he could do was replay it in his mind, over and over and over again because it would not leave him.

He kept thinking that it was the first time anyone had ever touched him like that.

And it had been through violence.

Altair did not crave that sort of thing like most men. He’d never visited the doves- No, that was a lie, he had. Once and had found nothing of interest there. The doves had looked at him funny, told him he was strange and broken, that something was wrong with him. But he just… did not feel that need, did not _want_ that from women. He didn’t even touch himself really. Not because it was weird, but because he didn’t need to. He was a strange young man. When he’d left the concubine quarters he’d felt like a failure. He’d been sixteen then, plenty old enough to bed a woman. Yet he hadn’t. It made some conversations with his age mates awkward. _They_ had all bedded women at that age, some ever before that. Altair just lied about it, knowing then he’d be ridiculed for it.

He’d been a virgin till then. A male virgin. Weirdo. His eyes squeezed a bit tighter. Some wouldn’t even consider him a man for that. He was strange and bizarre and the few he had told had laughed at him. Laughed. He’d stopped telling people. Only one person had never laughed at him for being different, but they were just as strange. And now he wasn’t one anymore. He almost threw up again but there was nothing to vomit and instead he just got the whiff of acid from deep in his throat. It had always been a shameful secret but now that he wasn’t he’d do _anything_ to regain it. Anything to not have to replay the assault over and over and over again in his mind until it felt like it would be burned in his eyelids.

Eventually he knew he couldn’t sleep. He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky expecting the darkness and the array of stars that created an elaborate painting across the sky. What greeted him was a pale dawn and a purple morning, pink creeping in from the east as the sun rose over the walls and buildings of the city. So sleep had grabbed at him in snatches last night, so brief Altair had barely noticed. He pushed it down and away. Don’t let the strain show. Don’t let it affect you. All his debts and sins were paid in full now. He owed no one nothing. He was glad it was light out now. He could leave now. He knew Malik would be angry, because he was still healing, but he was better. He also couldn’t stay here another moment or he would go insane. To have to be trapped under this cage of wood and gentle stone with his assailant would have driven Altair completely mad.

He put Sawsan on her pillow and carefully went into the back room and found his gear. He dressed in new clothes in absolute silence and then went to Malik’s desk and found a slip of paper. He stared at it and old memories came. Him and Malik, much, much younger, sitting in the common room. Malik trying to help Altair with his lesson work but having trouble reading his writing. Altair explaining each bit to him and why it was much easier to write in three languages than four and why doing so in one was nearly impossible. Malik had just looked at him with wonder that Altair, hardly older than ten, could even write in so many. He could still remember the wideness of Malik’s dark eyes and could see Malik knew the beauty in what Altair could do.

Malik certainly didn’t look at him like that any more. An old knife Altair had never quite rid himself of twisted in his heart.

He a little wrote a short note, in Arabic. Terrible Arabic, but it was all in Arabic because Malik probably didn’t remember how to read what Altair wrote anymore and the knife twisted deeper. If Malik was going to take from him the least he could do was keep an innocent from death. He left the note on the pillow with Sawsan along with some food, and pet her a few more times.

He’d miss her. He loved her. He didn’t want to leave her here. But he was more afraid of what the Master would do if he found her. He was more terrified of that than he was willing to admit. He wouldn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. Someone would die probably. He kissed her on the head and climbed the fountain wall, the remains of his stitches strained and pained him but he grit his teeth and refused to acknowledge them. Altair hung off the wall one handed and unlocked the lattice with a soft click. He slid it back just enough to climb through and closed it again with a gentle thud.

Altair faced the city. The sun was just rising over the wall of Jerusalem and the sky was soft and rosy with gentle colors and the promise of a new day. He had a long journey home. He felt no peace in it though. All he felt was turmoil and conflict because things were no less easy to understand back home than with Malik. He thought Malik hated him, or that he’d once been a friend, at the very least respected his ability if not Altair himself. He could understand that. He could not understand what had happened last night. It felt like betrayal and reminded him of the Old Man back home. He didn’t know who to trust. He thought he could trust Malik, the one man who’d once always listened to him. He didn’t know who to confide in anymore and he knew that that was his fault alone. He’d pushed everyone away and no one wanted to listen to the ‘stupid’ Altair who wasn’t smart enough to know the answers to his own questions. Now he truly had no one. Fool.

He looked back into the garden, Sawsan was still sleeping and Malik would wake soon. He needed to be gone.

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My...
> 
> Part 3 will certainly be a lot of unpacking won't it? I'm excited, are you? :3c


	33. New Age Lily

It was a grey morning. There were no real clouds but the air was dim and grey, the sun lazily pulling itself up to the horizon after a long sleep. It smelled like spring outside. Freshly tilled earth and the mountain was full of new flowers. In the pastures of the village below there were lambs and foals with their mothers, all new and springy with long legs and big dark eyes. Calves laid under their mothers in the short dewed grass in their pastures. Not even the farmers were up yet. Or the imams. Or even the Assassin novices. It was still time to sleep.

The sun crept closer to the horizon. It still didn’t crest and down below and from within the fortress came the singing for salat al-fajr, dawn prayer. The singing of the imams rose up into the silent morning and many people moved out of their homes to go to mosque. Most of them were men but some women went as well. How many Assassins went to dawn prayer wasn’t important. They only played at their holiness. No men of slaughter like them could do anything more than play at it. The singing eased back into the silence of dawn. Malik hadn’t even woken for it.

As if roused by the singing of the imams the sun finally eased itself over the horizon, a far off thing beyond the mountain at the edge of the sky. The sky lightened but in the mountains it was difficult to see the true sunrise. Dawn prayer ended and people left mosque, to start their days. Have breakfast and go out to tend their animals or fields or workshops. Deep in the fortress prefects were waking up the younger novices for their days of training. Morning stretches before breakfast and a day of activity.

It was a day just like all the others. Nothing was different about today than other days that had come before it. The imams sang, people went to mosque, the sun rose and people lived their lives. Their boring little lives where nothing interesting happened. If they were unlucky they were Assassin novices and they were trained to murder without feeling and beat each other up to prove they were better than those they’d grow up to call brother. Nothing was different about this day than any other that had come before it or would come after.

Except Altair couldn’t sleep.

He sat on the window sill, the shutters open, wearing his blacks around him like a death shroud, watching over his domain. The fortress, the village, the mountain; it was his. Not for the first time he wondered what would happen if he went down into the village and decided to just kill everyone. Who would stop him? For no real reason. Just that he was bored. He hadn’t been on a hunt since he’d killed Robert, and Abbas didn’t count. Those men he’d killed in his swearing in didn’t count. Every time he thought those thoughts though other thoughts that sounded like Malik and Kamal would chime in and tell him that that was wrong, and those people loved him and he would cause a great sadness if he did this thing. It stayed his hand, but did not relieve his boredom.

That wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep though, because he was bored. He couldn’t sleep because of something else. Something he couldn’t describe. No matter how he’d laid awake last night staring at the ceiling with a twist in his stomach he couldn’t say what had kept him away. As close as he could get was that something was wrong. Wrong how he didn’t know. He’d felt this way a few times in his life. Azrael said it was his intuition. His father had said it was Allah speaking to him.

He nearly scoffed at the thought. As if Allah would speak to _him_.

Whatever it was, it had kept him up all night and he’d passed the night at the window, watching his mountain. His mountain. Surreal to think that this entire mountain really was his, that he was a lord or something. Quite a long way to come for an orphan.

From the bed Malik shifted in his sleep and Altair slid off the sill and stepped barefoot onto the stone floor. He closed the shutters and took off his hood and robe to lay them on the end of the bed and got back in. The light had probably started to wake him and that hadn’t been Altair’s intention. Malik glowed in the half light of early dawn, a shimmering gold like a misty morning, diffused at the edges and ethereal. Malik would probably be annoyed with Altair if he used the word ‘ethereal’ to describe him and that made Altair smile a little.

With a great breath Malik opened one eye a little, barely awake and made a creaking noise in his throat. “Good morning,” Altair said in a whisper like he was telling Malik a secret.

Malik closed his eye, “You’re too generous,” he grunted and rolled onto his back. Altair smiled a bit to himself. He rubbed his face with a sigh that turned into a yawn. “I guess it’s time to get up?”

“Yes,” Altair said, still watching him.

“Right,” Malik grunted, sat up, and got out of bed. It was still cool enough at night to wear a night gown and Malik’s was ugly. Altair hated wearing one even though they were warmer. They always got tangled in his legs. Altair rolled out of bed and pulled his blacks right back on. Malik hadn’t even noticed he was already half dressed. Not that he really made an effort anymore. Shirt, pants, and then just put on the robe and red sash. No one looked too hard at the rest of his clothes. Perfect for him since he hated having to worry about his clothes.

Altair just sat on the bed while Malik moved about the room, half awake. Altair thought he looked rather cute like this. At the very least he was quieter, and he didn’t have to worry about him yelling or getting grumpy. Unlike Altair Malik cared more for his appearance. He brushed his hair and his beard, which had become thicker over the winter. Altair just kept everything shaved and short. Was easier to take care of and he didn’t have to deal with the feeling of getting things brushed which was _torture_. Once he finished brushing his hair he dressed and it was a process.

Malik always looked _perfect_ when he went down to the desk to work. He never didn’t wear his full uniform, though liked to wear colored or patterned shirts and thobes under his black robes to make them interesting. Altair just wore white. Though there were things Malik had difficulty with. Like tying his sash, or knotting the drawstring of his pants.

Altair got off the bed and went around to Malik, coming up behind him. Malik went all stiff when Altair did that and reached behind him to finish wrapping his sash around his waist. He liked touching Malik, his hands on his waist and across his stomach, and he knew Malik liked him touching him too. Not that he’d figured that out right away. Altair had figured it out over the three years that even if Malik got all stiff that he’d relax after a few seconds most of the time. Not this time though. This time Malik stayed stiffened Altair knew today was going to be rough for his Malik.

Altair didn’t linger like he did some days. He finished Malik’s sash and clipped the belt into place in the back. He didn’t bother with the drawstring of his pants. Malik was wearing one of his fitted pants, and he didn’t think Malik would appreciate him doing that today anyway. He’d probably get very flustered and yell. It was barely after dawn, Altair didn’t want Malik yelling already.

Such a shame really. He really did like touching Malik. He was smart enough to know he did it in ways Malik really, _really_ , liked but he didn’t want Malik to touch him like that. He didn’t want to touch more than that either.

Weirdo.

Altair just gave him a little smile and went out to the main room, the look on Malik’s face as he left was a bit strained. Malik stayed in the room. Altair wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Malik was probably doing in there. Same thing normal men did when the object of their affection frustrated them as much as Altair frustrated Malik. He really did feel sort of bad about it. He didn’t _mean_ to frustrate Malik so much. Altair didn’t have to worry about those sorts of things but he knew he worked Malik up all the time. He didn’t even do anything. Altair didn’t always understand why men, even Malik, acted like that, they just did. He just accepted it as things that happened and moved on with his life. His mind drifted to the dove guards briefly before becoming distracted.

When Sawsan saw him she immediately said good morning. Her belly was big and she lived in her birthing box full of soft fabric. He went over to her and squatted next to her box. He meowed back to her and Sawsan pushed herself up to get pets on the head and along the jaw. She’d be having her kittens soon. A week or so probably. He was so excited. Altair hadn’t been able to really feel excited when she’d been pregnant the first time, too depressed about what he’d done to feel the real happiness. But here now, he could. He could feel happy and he couldn’t wait he was so excited. Not that you’d ever know from looking at him. Kamal liked to tease him that Sawsan’s kittens was like Altair experiencing a mildly inconvenient situation and not something he was excited about. Sawsan’s fur had a faint golden halo like Malik did.

Kamal came into the room while Altair was petting Sawsan and cooing over her too soft for anyone else to hear. The other cats got right up and waited for Kamal to put down their dish of food before going at it like they’d never seen food in their lives. Kamal brought Sawsan’s dish over to her and handed it to Altair. “She gets the royal treatment today, huh?”

“She always does,” Altair chided him and he laughed a little. Once the cats were fed Kamal set out breakfast for Altair and Malik but Altair zoned him out. Instead he fed Sawsan her breakfast out of his hand. Chicken livers and gizzards. Her favorite. He’d told Navid ibn-Gamali that when he’d found out she was with kittens again. He’d half expected Navid to laugh at him but Navid had taken it very seriously. She ate the perfectly cubed chunks of meat right out from between his fingers, purring so loud he was sure Christopher outside could hear it on watch duty.

“Where’s Malik?” Kamal asked.

“Fighting with his boots probably,” Altair said and wiggled his naked toes on the rug.

“Ah, of course. I don’t have any special information for him, can I go get my breakfast?”

“Yes,” Altair said.

“Also I don’t wanna be around you guys bicker about something and look like you’re about to make out-“ Altair turned to look at his scribe over his shoulder.

“Kamal,” Altair said, his hood obscuring a good part of his face and he knew he looked dangerous. “Has anyone told you the proverb that silence is gold?”

“Once or twice,” Kamal said with a smirk that rivaled Altair’s own. He wasn’t even intimidated. Brat. Actually probably good that he wasn’t intimidated anymore. At least not right now, while he was giving his Master a hard time. What was this about Altair wanting novices to be beat less? Maybe they had a good idea about that since he never would have mouthed off to Azrael had he been in Kamal’s position. And he had been in this position too.

“Then remember it more often.”

“I’ll try,” Kamal said. Altair just shooed him away and Kamal went, leaving Altair alone.

The first litter finished their breakfast and came over to Altair to petting. He pet them with one hand and fed their mother with the other. The brothers jumped up onto his back and shoulders, rubbing their heads against his and Altair didn’t even bother to move them. He was happy right here, like this. Had taken him many years to find something that made him happy regularly, and the cats did that.

The other thing that made him happy came out of their bedroom a few minutes later. Malik had that look in his eyes that told Altair he’d been right in guessing what Malik had been up to in there. The cats had gone off to find something else to do after they’d rubbed all over him already and just left Altair and Sawsan alone until Malik showed up.

“Kamal already went to breakfast?” Malik asked, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Yes,” Altair said and stood up. Sawsan meowed after him, annoyed he was leaving her. He just wiggled his fingers at her and she rolled onto her side. He went over to the table and their breakfast.

“Hmm,” Malik said, sipping his tea and looking over the paperwork Kamal had left him. He didn’t look at Altair, he would not. He felt guilty about it. Altair didn’t know what. Just because Malik had to do things Altair didn’t didn’t mean he hated Malik or thought he was disgusting. He’d hated Malik before and found it more trouble than it was worth.

“Anything interesting?” Altair asked piling hummus and cheese and sausage up on a piece of pita and stuffing it into his face.

“Three messages from three different Dai. They want to know when the meeting of Dais will be and why I have withheld the time. Qais is especially annoyed we have not named a new Dai to replace Jawad.”

“They will know soon,” Altair said around his breakfast and when Malik gave him an annoyed look he gulped hot tea to wash it down.

“They will not like her, Altair. You know that right?”

“I don’t care,” Altair said.

“Well maybe you should,” Malik snapped.

“Malik,” Altair said and leaned over to him, “If I cared for the thoughts of little men they would not be the ones looking up to us.” He said it with a bit of a grin, mean but also charming. He knew Malik hated when he did that.

Malik scowled at him. “You should.”

“Why? Half of them are old, they will die soon,” he leaned back and stuffed a few more slices of sausage into his mouth. “And then my men, or women, who understand me will take their place.”

“Heh, of course grandmaster,” Malik said.

“What? It is true- what?”

“Why do you insist on having important conversations over breakfast when you will not _chew your food_?” Malik demanded. “Allah! You’re like a child.” Altair sulked a bit. He just liked talking to Malik. He only really felt comfortable talking with Malik, anyone else and the words just got all messed up. Between wanting to talk to Malik and eating sometimes things just got in the way, like food. “Eat, then talk but don’t do both at the same time.”

“Sorry,” Altair muttered. He settled for eating, because he was hungry and the mutton sausage tasted good. He let Malik drink his tea and eat his breakfast in peace while he went over the other notes Kamal had left him.

“Well, its just more complaining,” Malik announced when he was done reading. “Nothing of import,” he burned the slips in the lamp Kamal had lit. “Go put your boots on and meet me downstairs,” Malik said getting up.

“I dunno I thought I’d spend the day barefoot like a street urchin,” Altair said, looking down at his feet.

Malik just rolled his eyes. “Just finish getting dressed. Don’t make me wait for you too long.”

Altair leaned over to him, “But you would wait,” he said softly and watched Malik try very hard to not show any emotion. Malik wasn’t as good at it as Altair was and the edges of moved and Altair smirked at him. Malik also looked right where Altair knew he would look, down at his mouth, and then stubbornly looking up to Altair’s shadowed eyes. It was easy to manipulate Malik in this way. Altair did it all the time and it made him feel like he had a bit more power in their relationship. He did everything and anything Malik told him to do because he loved and respected Malik so he felt he was totally allowed to lead Malik around by the nose a bit by being insufferable and distracting and frustrating.

“No I wouldn’t,” Malik said just to be contrary.

“Yes you would,” Altair said with a wide smile and got even closer. Malik got a bit flustered by his closeness. He swallowed uncomfortably and that gave Altair some bit of pleasure. He did love when Malik got all flustered. It was sort of cute. Not that he’d tell Malik that. “Don’t lie to me, or yourself,” and so Malik couldn’t lie to him he leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him. Malik was in too much of a frazzled mood to kiss him back but Altair didn’t mind. Sometimes he just liked to remind them both that Altair drove Malik to his absolute end.

Malik took a deep breath when Altair pulled back. “I’m going to work now,” he said and left, the door closing sharply behind him.

Altair chuckled once he was gone. “You see that?” he asked Sawsan. She meowed from her box. “Yes, he is a silly man isn’t he.”

Altair went back into his room and finished dressing and left his room. Ehan was outside now, reading. His guard only looked up briefly. “Good morning, Grandmaster,” he said as Altair passed.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Altair smiled and Ehan looked back down at his book as Altair went downstairs to go find Malik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this sooner but ngl, not a lot of response on chapters really kills my drive to update this more than once a month.


	34. Beaudacious Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what’s awesome?  
> Having crippling anxiety and depression at the same time that makes writing impossible *sarcastic thumbs up*

At the peak of the day, it felt like a young summer even in the fortress. Malik was nearly uncomfortable in his black robes. Altair must have been immune to the heat because he didn’t seem to notice and didn’t mind the fluffy neck warmer of Adha’s lithe form practically wrapped around the back of his neck. He was playing with his lunch and sneaking her pieces of sausage like Malik didn’t see. Malik knew Altair would get up and leave soon, once lunch was over. He didn’t mind too much, he couldn’t handle the complaints.

Before Altair could leave for the afternoon Zaki came up to the desk accompanied by two others. Their new Dai and her brother.

Zonira was a homely thing. Plain and ordinary with dark eyes and skin and an innocent face. The only thing that really set her apart was her mouth, which was upturned in a kind expression and her large lips. She wore a green and golden hijab and a headscarf patterned with desert flowers. She was young too, younger than Malik had expected to choose, and only twenty-two. She was younger than Haytham even. She’d married one of their men four years ago when and had a three-year-old son. Her husband had died only recently in a stupid accident after some bandits had surprised him on the road. They’d shot his horse and it’d fallen on him, crushing and killing him in the process. They’d left his naked corpse and rotting horse just off the road for someone else to find.

Those bandits didn’t exist anymore after his brothers had found him and her husband had been buried under a white mark.

Her brother Haris was ten years older than her. Haris wore his beard short and thick, a bit of gray starting to show at the corners of his mouth and mottling his kinky black hair. He wasn’t a Master but he was skilled and wore his white uniform proudly. Haris was like most Assassins around Altair and Malik’s age, cold and hard and closed off from others with no remorse. They were the last generation who had come into their own under Azrael and most of the older novices were already forgetting Azrael and recognized nothing but Altair’s leadership. Haris was a good soldier and been _very_ opposed to Altair and Malik using his baby sister for their schemes but was too loyal and worshipful of Altair to deny them.

“Something the matter?” Malik asked and even Altair looked up from where he was fiddling with the last of his lunch. Adha shifted on his shoulders but did not move. Zaki and Abyan had been training Zonira until she hated them and he wouldn’t bring her before them out in the open without good reason.

“No,” Zaki was cheerful and pleasant. “It is just time.”

“Time?” Malik felt stupid. He always felt stupid around Zaki, it was annoying.

“I’ve finished my training, Grand Dai,” Zonira said, looking him straight on. Zaki had had to train that into her, along with many other things. Most women would not look men directly in the eye unless they were related or lovers. Zonira’s piercing dark eyes met Malik’s without hesitation. She’d come quite a ways since they had singled her out and she had been terrified.

“Oh really now?” Malik asked. He couldn’t help but be skeptical. This was Altair’s Dai really, and everyone knew Malik was mildly against a woman Dai even though he did not vocally say so. She knew she had no backing with Malik and would have to prove herself to him just as much as to the other Dai and their brothers.

“Yes,” Zaki said. “She’s completed the regimen that I set out for her, and Haris is not half bad either,” Zaki verbally poked at him. Haris just rolled his eyes a little. Haris was just unhappy his sister seriously outranked him now. It would be the same for many of their Assassins, which was why Haris was there. Zaki assured Malik all the time Haris would get over it once he saw what a pain being Dai was but Malik wasn’t so sure. Their men were stubborn about things.

“Good,” Altair said. “That is very good to hear.”

“But is she ready for Jerusalem?” Malik asked.

“No Dai is ever ready for Jerusalem,” Zaki said gravely and behind him, Zonira swallowed a little bit. “But she is more ready than most have been in the past three decades, more capable, and better hidden. She is as ready as she could hope to be.”

Malik was still not impressed. She was still a woman and would be entering a man’s world. The other Dais would tear her apart. Especially the old ones. “Fair enough,” Malik said.

“Is it time to call for the Dais?” Altair asked.

“I think it is safe to do so,” Zaki said.

“Thank Allah,” Malik cried and Altair looked at him. Only Zaki seemed amused. “The number of _birds_ I get from the other Dais complaining that there was no meeting this winter and when the next one will be. I’m about ready to just visit them personally to yell at them all individually,” he grumbled.

“But you can do that all at once in Jerusalem,” Altair said helpfully.

“I know. Kamal, go have someone write up messages telling them the meeting of the Dais is scheduled at Zonira’s new home in two weeks time so they have ample time to prepare and none of them can find excuses for why they can’t be there.”

“Of course, Grand Dai,” Kamal got up and left.

“I would like you two to leave in the next few days, to settle into your new bureau,” Malik said. “So you will be prepared for them and you will get to know Jerusalem.”

“Of course,” Zonira said. “Halimah and I will prepare.” Halimah was Haris’ wife and mother of his two children.

“Do not take long. This will be a constant uphill battle, and you cannot afford any setbacks. Not being somewhat established will be seen as a weakness, which we cannot afford,” Malik said.

“Malik will arrive in Jerusalem a few days before the meeting of the Dais,” Altair added. “In case some of your stationed men are giving you a difficult time.” Malik nodded slowly. “Though I would suggest making them deal with your equally difficult brother if that happens,” he said, eyes moving to Haris. Haris did not look amused by him.

Zonira was smiling a bit, “Thank you for the advice, Master. I wish to go start preparations now, so we may leave for our new home.”

“Safety and peace, Zonira, Haris,” he said. Malik echoed him and Zonira was so surprised by the sign of equality it took her a second or so to bow. Their farewell was only for their brothers and equals. It was not something that was just said to women. But Zonira was a Dai. She was equal. Malik did not like that she was but he would not openly disagree with Altair in this. Not here and now when they were on the cusp.

“Safety and peace, Masters,” Haris said as he and his sister bowed. He then led her away.

Malik waited until they were gone before saying, “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“I know. It's very exciting,” Altair said.

“That is not the word I would use,” Malik half glared at him.

“I would.”

“Thankfully we are not all you.”

“Yes,” Altair just flat out agreed and Malik squinted at him. He wasn’t sure if he’d just insulted Altair there or not.

“How will the meeting go?” Zaki asked.

“Hopefully without me having to kill someone,” Malik grumbled. “You know how they grate my temper. Especially the older ones. They did not like Altair. They will not like Zonira.”

“But Jawad is dead,” Altair put in.

“So is Azrael but yet his presence still clings to this place like a cobweb,” Malik hoped he didn’t come off too hostile. “Just because an old man is dead doesn’t mean things are different. They are still bastard old men, set in their ways about things. They will not be kind, or understanding when I have to break the news to them that a _woman_ is the new Dai and not her brother.” He rubbed his eyes. What a pain.

“I wish I could come as well,” Altair said.

“You are _not_ leaving Masyaf,” Malik said firmly. “I must leave but you cannot.”

“I know,” Altair said. “But if I was there they would not question it because they are weak to things greater than them.”

“Perhaps you should instruct Malik on that then,” Zaki suggested.

“Hmm?” Malik rose his brows at Zaki.

“People respect you, Malik,” Zaki started, “but they submit to Altair. You are good at what you do and many of our men have great respect for what you can do and how you do it. But they would not die for you,” and that was a blow to the ego. Malik did his best not to take it personally. “Our men would die for Altair, or kneel on the floor like they pray to a god. I do not say we should ask for miracles, as you would never be able to command attention like Altair does, but you could learn some things.”

Malik looked at Altair and Altair’s expression was neutral. “I don’t think asshole can be taught,” Malik said.

“Authority can,” Zaki said. “And the ability to keep calm under pressure.”

“What?” Malik gave Zaki a look.

“You have a temper. A dangerous thing for a leader to have. I have seen you go off before and it gets results, but they are short-lived.”

“You’re joking,” Malik said.

“Not about this.”

“It is like what you told me about the Greeks,” Altair said helpfully. “Make them fear you.”

“I am a cripple, there is nothing to fear,” Malik was aware enough to know that.

“And yet you are Grand Dai,” Altair said.

“And Altair’s sword is your sword,” Zaki said. “I do not think many people remember that.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Malik said, insulted on Altair’s behalf to be reduced as such.

“It isn’t untrue,” Zaki said. “Our brothers love Altair for what and who he is because of _what_ he is. He is a killer. The pinnacle of an Assassin and everything we should be. They fear him for the same reason. And they know that despite that he is Grandmaster he is still one of them. A blade to be directed.”

“Zaki, do not insult your Grandmaster to his face,” Malik growled.

Zaki looked over at Altair briefly. “I do not think he’s insulted,” Zaki said. Malik looked over at Altair. Altair was calm and he caught Altair in the act of giving Adha a piece of his sausage.

“Altair,” Malik said and made Altair look and then look sheepish seeing he’d been caught. “You do not find a problem with what Zaki says?”

“Hmm? No. Why would I?”

“He is calling you a puppet.”

“No,” Altair said, cocking his head to the side a little. “He’s saying I am what I am. I am a grand stander but let’s be honest, I don’t care about being Mentor. I care that my brothers are safe, that our novices are cared for, and that our enemies are dead. That’s it. I will do whatever you think is best to ensure those things keep happening.”

“Don’t give me that. You fight me all the time.”

“Because sometimes you want what is best for you, and not what is best for us.” That hit Malik hard in the ego. Did he? He didn’t think he was selfish and yet here Altair was, telling him to his face he was a selfish asshole. “That is what Zaki means I think. Our men love me because I am them and inspire love and fear because I am them, and take care of them, and can fight better than them. They respect you because they love me. They obey you because they fear me. They know, as do I, that I only attack when you say, and that is the wary respect of someone with a guard dog known to kill intruders.”

“The Dai do not care for that,” Zaki said. “I hate to say this to you Malik but while we did vote you in few see you as anything but Altair’s babysitter. Only Faruq and Kabli of Azrael’s original Dais actually think you are anything more than that. They… do not really respect you.”

It was eye opening and heat rushed through Malik in humiliation and rage. He felt his face start to burn and he wasn’t sure which emotion he was feeling. He clenched his jaw so he did not speak, having enough insight to see that this was what Zaki was talking about. His temper was a short but flaming lash that called upon temporary respect out of fear that he’d send Altair after them. But it was not respect for him but that Altair would deal with them later, which people did not want.

“Which is why perhaps Altair could teach you a few things about getting others to respect you,” Zaki said. “Or at least authority. I’ve sat in on your Dai meetings, you know what I mean.” Now Malik’s face did burn with humiliation. The last Dai meetings had been, in a word, awful. Malik had no idea how to run one and had figured it out over two years and Zaki and Abyan’s help but he still struggled. He was not good at group speaking by any means and that was the least of it.

“Just demote them,” Altair said.

“I can’t just-

“Why not?” Altair asked. “Keeping those who are willfully insubordinate around and in power is a weakness.”

“And you expect Zaki and Abyan to train new Dais for us in three weeks?” Malik demanded.

“No,” Altair said. “They do not respect you. _Make_ them respect you. You are Grand Dai. The highest Dai. They forget this.”

“So then what are you suggest?”

“Threaten them,” Altair said.

“Zaki, are you hearing this?” Malik asked.

“It isn’t a bad idea,” Zaki said as he fingered his white beard. “Certainly, we’ve heard worse from Altair but I don’t think this to be one. Altair does know how to control and inspire our men. The old Dai fear him and do so even more now that Jawad is dead but they also know he isn’t able to terminate their rank. That is a power we gave to the Grand Dai when he was elected and probably because they knew you were too shy to do so.”

Malik stared at him. “Did you just call _me_ shy?” Malik asked. Next to him Altair laughed a little.

“What’s so funny?” Kamal asked, returning from seeing the clerks.

“Bring Zaki a chair then sit, be silent and do not write,” Altair said and Kamal did so without question. Malik realized Kamal never did that for him. He almost always talked back or hesitated when given an order he didn’t like. With Altair, it was servitude, devotion, unerring loyalty. Exactly what Zaki was speaking of. Zaki lowered himself into the chair with a grateful groan and rubbed his knees under his robes.

“That you are capable,” Zaki said. “They know you hesitate and overthink things. You need them so we can keep tabs on our districts and easily keep track of our men. They think you are too scared to replace them before they die. Are you?”

Malik did not answer right away. He did not want to answer in anger like he did at times. “I think it would be unwise is all-

“A sign of weakness then,” Zaki said. “Exactly why you are seen as a babysitter and not an equal to Altair.”

“Then what should I do?” Malik demanded, unable to keep his heated tongue back anymore. “It isn’t like it's easy being Grand Dai.”

“I know that,” Zaki said, tone gentle. “But it doesn’t matter. How do we deal with men who are disobedient?”

“They are punished,” Malik said like he was being lectured. He hated every moment of this.

“So are the Dai exempt from this?”

“Are they?” Malik genuinely asked.

“No,” Altair said softly. “No one is exempt.”

Malik swallowed a tiny bit. Everything was fine. “So then what do I do? How do I… punish a Dai? They are our highest ranked brothers.”

“Humiliate them, belittle them, take away their rank,” Zaki said. “I could go on. Years the meeting of the Dais was in Masyaf he would verbally thrash us. We were incompetent, we were negligent, we were lazy and weak minded. He nearly demoted every one of us at one point for these things. And they were real threats when he sent a new rafiq to our bureau with a letter saying this would be our replacement should we not correct our behavior. That is how we all got rafiqs. Heh, you can tell who Azrael disliked the most by how many rafiqs they accumulated over the years. I believe Raid has five. Azrael had very strong things to say to him many times for his negligence towards out contracts and our brothers.”

It dawned on Malik then. “Zonira,” he said.

“Zonira?” Zaki asked.

Malik laughed. What an absolutely ridiculous but perfect idea. “I know what to do,” he said with a smile.

“Involving Zonira?” Zaki asked.

“You don’t hate her now?” Altair said.

“No. She’s perfect now,” Malik said, still smiling. “I know how to make the Dais fear me more than they ever feared Azrael.”

“Oh?”

“You say she’s good enough to handle Jerusalem?”

“Better than you were, better than Jawad was,” Zaki said, a secret smile tucked into the corner of his lips.

“She is a threat,” he said. “Shape up, or you will be replaced with a woman. One who’s better than you.”

Next to him Altair snorted. “Fantastic,” he said with a slight smile.

“I thought you’d think so,” Malik said and Altair pushed his thigh against Malik’s.

“Heh, that is a very good threat. And a very real threat,” Zaki nodded with approval, still stroking his beard. “It will wake my fool brothers up to the fact that you are not someone to be trifled with. They all know that Dais need both of your approval to take the mantle. It is a very real threat to their power.”

“Perfect,” Altair said. “Are we done now?”

“Hmm?”

“He wants to go see his novice,” Malik told Zaki with a smile roll of his eyes.

“Hmm,” Zaki said and Kamal went over to help Zaki up out of his chair and put it away.

“I also have things to do,” Malik groaned.

“So I am free to go?” Altair asked expectantly.

“Yes,” Malik waved him away.

“Excellent,” and he got up immediately.

“Not for nothing,” Malik told Zaki once Altair was gone. “I _do_ feel like his baby sitter,” he sighed a little. Zaki just chuckled. “Now I have complaints to hear and deal with. I should get to that.”

“Of course,” Zaki said. “Safety and peace,” he bowed a little as Malik echoed him.

Then Zaki left and Kamal went to the guard down the hall, nearby but not too close to hear their conversations at the desk, and told them that they could start to bring up those who had issues for the Grand Dai to hear. Malik poured himself another cup of tea and settled in for a long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a list of stuff I wanna do in this arc, and at the top of the list is one word: ZONIRRRAAAAA!!!


	35. Arabian Night Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, how's it going? Hope you're ready for some ptsd Altair. Cause that's all he is at this point lols

It was a long day and the garden smelled like opium and perfume. It always left Altair’s head muddy and cloudy as he walked out of it. He felt a bit better now at least.

Altair did not believe in Allah. He did not pray or worship or ever visit an imam or priest for his mental wellbeing. He did not trust someone like an imam or priest or rabbi with the nature or state of his soul. He had seen every single one of them become corrupt both with gold and the ‘insight of god’. But Altair did still seek someone for guidance on what he should do. Just to talk. Someone who would not judge what he said or how he felt or that he felt awkward and uncomfortable in his own body at times. He’d found them like an oasis in a desert when he’d been a young man and all the other boys his age were bragging about sneaking into the garden when no one looking or going to a brothel under a Dai’s nose. They were all incredibly proud of it too. Altair didn’t understand it and couldn’t ask them, couldn’t talk to them about it without being seen as weird or strange that he did not do those things.

He rarely went. It wasn’t necessary and all the doves in the garden knew them. He did not need the reputation like that and Malik would not take well to them coming to his rooms. He got agitated when others were in their room after a long day because it meant he had to stay alert and could not relax. Altair did not want to take that from him so he’d gone down to the garden instead and spent some time to see his personal ‘holy man’ if he wanted to be funny. God would not approve of such a ‘holy man’. But Altair supposed he wouldn’t approve of a man like Altair either, or Malik, or anyone in this gods forsaken fortress that bled violence and they all walked around like going to mosque or church did not go against the very word of God.

Hypocrites.

When he started his way up the stairs he stopped and looked into the foyer. His head cocked to the side a little at what he saw. He’d seen Marcus only once, in the fighting ring, months ago. He’d been plain and boring as could be with no distinguishing features. At least none you could see normally. To Altair’s eyes wisps of red trickled from his pores and a dark red smoke poured from his hood. Altair did not fear the strange sight. He’d seen men like this all his life.

The enemy.

Kill them.

Marcus was just standing there, nearly out in the open, watching him. Altair stared back, his eyes fixing Marcus where he stood and the man did not move. He just continued to smoke and Altair would wait until he had left. Marcus just stood there for a long while, looking. Then he was both there and not there as the smoke and red left an after image as he walked away. Altair watched him go and it took more willpower than he thought he had to not go after him and tenderly bury his hidden blade down Marcus’ throat.

“Al Mualim, is everything all right?” someone asked him. Altair looked away from what was left of Marcus to one of his men. They ripped like water of a still lake. It was one of the guards, going about his rounds.

“Yes, everything is fine, I was just lost in thought,” Altair said and the lie was a dark red fog around his face. “Got a bit distracted was all,” and then he carried on back up the stairs.

Jari was watching the door, his face buried in a book to elevate some of his boredom. He looked up as Altair walked up the stairs. “Good evening, Altair,” he said.

“It was,” Altair said.

“Do you need something?”

“Is Malik inside?”

“Yes, sir,” Jari nodded a little.

“Then no.”

“I see,” and his eyes were guarded with unspoken things. Jari was such a welcome sight around. All of their guards were. Jihad did not know what any of them looked like but he’d learned the feeling of them each individually. Altair liked the way Jihad described Jari; ‘he’s like a new colt. Skittish but excited and very, very, happy to see you.’

“The meeting of the Dais is in two weeks,” Altair told him.

Jari sunk into his hood. “I was not going to ask,” he muttered.

“But I wanted to tell you anyway,” Altair said trying to be nice. “Diyari will be happy to see you.”

“Master, can you not speak like this?” Jari asked.

“Like what? That a man I trust with my life will be able to see his very important friend?”

Jari’s lips went thin and he worried his lower lip with his teeth. “I do not think it will be like that.”

“No?” Altair leaned against the wall next to him and that was _not_ what Jari wanted because he stiffened and got increasingly more nervous. Jari was nervous person by nature and this did not help.

“Master, with all respect, it isn’t something I wish to speak about in the open,” he said, playing with the catch of his hidden blade.

Altair looked around. “No one is here. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is fine.”

“Do you write to him?”

Jari’s face went bright red like Malik’s did when Altair asked him something uncomfortable about his feelings. “Er— sometimes?” he squeaked.

“Jari,” Altair leaned over to him a little, pulling his hood back some. “You don’t have to be afraid of it around me.” Jari looked up at him with wide brown eyes like the thought had never occurred to him to worry that someone would not only find out about his feelings but be okay with them. “I’m happy for you.” Or as close as Altair could get to that.

“You’re alone in this but alright,” Jari said and that made Altair chuckle.

“Just because others judge does not mean I do,” Altair said. “As you said yourself, I’m not a hypocrite.”

Jari hesitated a second before going, “Though you and Malik fight all the time. Is that what it is like? My father and mother fought a lot too. I… worry.”

“About what?”

Jari was quiet for nearly a minute before realizing Altair really did care about what he had to say and how he felt. “The meeting has been here the past two years but each time it has seemed… less.”

“You are both very far apart,” Altair said.

“I know,” Jari looked away. “Each time Diyari says I should try and get assigned to Aleppo as a permeant contact there. But I can’t. I don’t want to leave. I don’t trust anyone who can take my position. I trusted Chris enough, and Ehan has no friends other than us and Haytham really now. Not that he cares. I don’t want to disappoint but I do not like fighting about it either.” By the time he was done Jari was looking at his shoes.

“Do you want to be reassigned to Aleppo?” Altair asked him.

Jari looked up at him. “Not… really? I do not want to let you down, Altair.”

His eyes got huge when Altair squatted down next to him like how he’d talk to Jihad sometimes or to those boys who’d been stolen by the rafiqs during the Threshing. Jari swallowed when Altair just pulled his hood off. He only did that around Malik because he felt safe around Malik and trusted Malik enough to see him like this. “Jari,” he said, “have you ever seen me remove my hood?”

“Only when you practice with Rauf,” Jari said, openly staring. Altair had only a few scars and they were all small. Everyone else his age he’d ever seen was riddled with scars. Jari was not staring because of a blemished skin but because it was so clear.

“And yet here I am,” Altair said, head naked. “If I thought you failed me in any way, I would not care about you, or if you wanted to be here. I would expect you to come and do your duty like I expect everyone else in this fortress because on a regular basis my men fail me in so many little ways.”

“Like what?”

“They lie to me, they lie to their superiors, I catch them cheating or stealing or cutting corners or being flush with too much pride. They show their colors to me and they look corrupt or greedy and it sickens me. You know that? Many of our brothers sicken me to look at them. But not you. You are so loyal and dedicated and truthful. Which is why I care about what you want. And why I feel like I can trust you. So trust me too. Do you want to be reassigned to Aleppo to be with Diyari?”

Jari swallowed and looked like he’d been asked to tell Altair Allah’s true plan for every person in the world. “I don’t know,” Jari said in a little voice.

Altair stood back up. “When you go with Malik to Jerusalem think on it. I will ask you again when you return and that will be the end of this discussion.”

“Forever?”

“For a while,” Altair said.

“Okay. I— thank you Al Mualim,” and Jari hopped to his feet, his book clattering to the ground, so he could bow to Altair.

“Do not thank me for I have not done anything you do not deserve.”

“Thank you,” Jari said, still bent over deeply at the waist.

“Has Kamal come with dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Tell him to knock and leave it for us. He is dismissed for the rest of the night.”

Jari looked up a little from where he was still bowed. “I will tell him.”

“Good, thank you Jari,” and then Altair went into his room.

Malik wasn’t in the sitting room and when he checked he found Malik washing up in the side room. He let Malik have his privacy and just left his boots and hidden blade bracer inside the room before retreating. He knew Malik often used that time to handle his sexual needs and Altair did not want to disrupt or see or be in any way involved in it. Instead he went back to the sitting room and draped his black coat over a chair and took off all of his regalia until he was just in his undershirt and pants.

Altair sat on the rug against the pillows and pulled out the thin volume that was Azrael’s old journal from under the pillows of his usual sitting spot. He’d read the thing cover to cover countless times now and knew every word of it by heart but he still read it. It gave him some manner of connection to the man and helped with his grieving.

He did not tell anyone how deeply he grieved for the old man. No one knew, not even Malik, that what he’d had to do to Azrael had cut him so deeply and hurt him so profoundly. Sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention the old grief would creep into his body at the edges and make him feel heavy and sad. Altair flipped to a random page to start. It spoke of Azrael’s treachery, the beginning of all his lies. Meeting Gerard and becoming a Templar. He didn’t like those entries. He liked the ones about him being with his friends or his work.

Azrael had been a bloody, efficient, killer. He did not write of his exploits except to say that there was death and Altair respected him for that. It was as Azrael had always trained him that killing was not to be relished for the sake of killing but for the sake of a job done well. Those were ideals Altair had trouble always following since he _did_ enjoy the killing. Not for the sake of the slaughter he supposed, but not for the sake of doing something well. He enjoyed it because it elevated his boredom and focused his mind. Or rather the fighting did, the hunt did. The killing was the result but really he just liked to fight. Azrael said that his enjoyment of war made him a good warrior and he should take pleasure in that but Altair did not. He didn’t care if he was a good warrior or not. He just wanted to fight and fight better opponents and be distracted by his target because otherwise the world was so boring and plain.

Sawsan got out of her box and came to lay in his lap. He gently stroked her white stomach and she purred. Azrael always worried about him, that he enjoyed the thrill of hunting and fighting too much. That was why he threatened and scared him by taking him down to the dungeons. He saw Altair as he was. A monster who deserved to be sent down there to work and be kept out of the light along with all the other sadists the Order trained who were not afraid of their sadism. Altair was afraid of his. Because he wasn’t a sadist. He was just different and knew he did not see things the way others did both literally and figuratively.

Altair stared at the journal but did not really see it. Azrael had done terrible things as a young man, just like Altair had, and broken so many laws and rules of their Order, then he’d become Mentor and changed everything. He allowed marriage and children. All for the sake of his own daughter. Altair never knew Azrael had had a daughter and felt cheated for it. Who was she? Where was she? Where had she gone? Was she still with the Templars or had she returned to Masyaf? Did she, even now, live in the village? Had she been around after Altair’s parents had died and he’d known her but never known? He did not recall any women in his life other than his own mother but those memories were fleeting and distant. In dreams he sometimes could recall the smell of her hair or the color of her headscarf which when he woke would confuse him since she’d been buried a Christian.

There was a knock on the door. Altair went and greeted Kamal and took the food from him. “You don’t need anything else?” Kamal asked him.

“No, you have the rest of the night off, Kamal,” Altair said.

“Okay, see you in the morning, Master,” and he retreated as Altair closed the door.

Altair put the tray down and as he sat called out, “Malik, dinner is ready!” He started eating before Malik come out of the room and fed Sawsan a few bites of mutton which she ate from between his fingers before rubbing her head against his hand with a happy purr. He scratched her head as Malik came out of the room in a thobe. Altair looked at him. Malik didn’t wear thobes where the hell had he gotten that?

“You couldn’t wait for me?” Malik asked as he came, barefoot, over to their dinner.

“I was hungry,” was all Altair said.

“Right,” Malik huffed and sat down, picking up a plate to eat dinner. “No Kamal?”

“He was not needed tonight. I gave him the night off.”

“How nice of you,” Malik teased him.

“Yes, so nice,” Altair said.

“Something the matter?” Malik asked him just before he was about to take a bite of dinner.

“No,” Altair said and smiled just enough so Malik would know it was a smile. “Sometimes I wish to be alone without him and his…” he huffed a little, “nosiness.” That made Malik laugh a bit.

“Fair enough,” Malik said and took a bite of his dinner. “So did I miss anything while I was dealing with the afternoon business?”

“No. The fortress was quiet.” Altair ate some before saying, “I saw Marcus.”

“Oh? And he saw you?”

“He was watching me,” Altair said.

“Was he now? Well, what did he see? Anything important?”

“No. I was just enjoying the company of a friend.”

Malik paused. “You have other friends?”

Altair scowled at him a little. “Yes, Malik, I have other friends beyond you and Rauf. Shocking I know.”

“It is,” Malik said. “Even when we boys you didn’t get along well with the others. You scared them. But are they really a friend or are you just telling me that?”

“They are,” Altair said.

“Good.” That surprised Altair. “I’m glad you have other friends. Who are they? Are they someone I know?”

“No,” Altair said slowly. “He is not well known,” a lie but Malik did not need to know that. Those who needed to knew who he was. According to them he was _very_ well known. Altair believed him. There were few men quite like him.

“Ah well. What did you do?”

“Just spent time together in the garden. Nothing of terrible interest. We talked some, it was nothing of consequence.”

“That’s good,” Malik nodded. “I’m glad to hear. And glad to hear you stayed out of trouble.” Altair chuckled a little. “And Jihad, how is he?”

“Coming along.”

Malik eyed him. “I still do not understand this thing you can do,” he confessed. “You say you see the ways of men with it but _how_. And how does a blind boy have such a talent?”

“It is something I could always do,” Altair said simply.

“Well what does it look like?” Altair looked at Malik. Even relaxed there was no ‘off’. As a boy he’d been able to bring it down to absolutely none but now it was like he could not avert his eyes. He always saw, in some way. Very softly the world around him shimmered and yellow light came out of Malik’s pores as little wisps giving him a sort of halo about his entire body.“Like when you look at me. I know you say ‘yellow’ but that is unhelpful. What does it actually look like?”

“It looks normal to me,” Altair said simply, shrugging. “The best way I can describe it is like when you look into a pond. You can see through the pond but things do not look exactly as they are. The water moves and distorts the image. That is what it looks like for me, all the time.”

“How do you see like that?” Altair just shrugged at that. “How do you aim a bow or fight so well if your vision is constantly shifting?”

“I have been like this since I could remember,” Altair said. “To you, it is an impossible thing. For me, it is not.”

Malik frowned a little. “And what about when your eyes change?”

“It is like the world is on fire,” Altair said and he ate his dinner while Malik stared at him. “It is then that the sins of the guilty are most obvious. I see the treachery in them. Like Marcus. Marcus is so horrid that even when I hardly look at him he is like mud in the water. He churns and billows red.”

“And in the other way?”

“I don’t know. I have not looked. I try not to look at men who I know are evil when they are near. They are a festering miasma of red that taints all around them. Some are so thickly veiled by their own horrible deeds I can barely see their forms.”

“Like who?”

“Jubair al Hakim,” Altair said with hate. “The book burner Azrael sent me to kill when I was forced to ‘redeem’ myself. He was an evil man.” Altair could still recall Jubair in his memory. As Altair had hunted him all he’d had to do was go into his second sight to know if he’d found him or an imposter. Jubair had been like a great fiery djinn made of black and red smoke that consumed his entire body and stood as tall as a two story building so great was his evil. His followers had been matchsticks of crimson flame next to him. He remembered seeing Jubair standing before a great bonfire of books and his entire body had consumed the flames. Jubair had been a satisfying kill.

“Yes, he was,” Malik agreed. “But you killed him.”

“I kill the evil.”

“And those who are not-

“ _All_ men are evil, Malik,” Altair cut him off. “But how great their evil is what makes the difference between being worthy of my time to kill them.”

“Relax,” Malik said and Altair looked at his hand. He was gripping his spoon tightly. He relaxed his grip and rolled his shoulders a bit. “You shouldn’t deal in absolutes, Altair.”

“I can,” Altair said.

“It is not good too.”

“It is not as though I act on them,” Altair huffed. “I know the fine differences between those who are actually evil and those who simply do a misdeed.”

“You judge men before you know them.”

“So I should only judge those I know well?”

“Sometimes.”

“So then I should have judged you? I know you very well. You are an odd one to me.”

Malik held very still. “What do you mean?”

“If I should only judge men on evil if I know them then you would be dead. You have been very red.” Malik swallowed. “Do not question what I see or how I act based on it. I know the nuances of it, you do not. Until you can see through my eyes you may not tell me what I see.”

Malik reached up and self-consciously touched his neck. “I am sorry,” Malik said.

Altair allowed his shoulders to relax. “I know,” he said.

“I am never _not_ going to be sorry, Altair.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe you do not want anything for that.”

Altair looked away. “I do not think of it,” he said. Or he did his best not to. The night of his rape was still a traumatic memory and he did everything in his power to never think of it. If he did his throat started to close up and the entire world went dark. His father said he had an active imagination, that he was a daydreamer, like his mother had been. These were not good things to be when you had lived a life like Altair had. The faces of the dead came to him sometimes. The event in Jerusalem came to him if he did not focus on not focusing on it.

Debts had been paid on that night. His rebirth hadn’t been the day Azrael had stabbed him and he’d been given a ‘second chance’ while being held by the throat by a wolf-like Azrael. It had been the morning after. His debts were paid. He’d owed no one his idle thoughts or scorn or thoughts of things he wished he’d said. They no longer mattered.

“Really? Or are you just saying that so I’ll feel better?” Malik asked.

“Malik, do you really think I’d kiss you if I did?” Altair asked him, giving him a look.

“I don’t know. We’re both kinda messed up.” Altair chuckled at that. “I know I’ve said it before but if I can do anything-

“The fact that it does not bother me and you cannot forget it is penance enough,” Altair said and Malik came up short. He hadn’t expected such an elegant punishment. Altair was not punishing Malik. Malik was punishing himself. That was enough for the small justice Altair wanted. That Malik would not forget and that he would respect his space now.

“I hate when you do that,” Malik frowned at him.

“Do what? What did I do now?”

“Are clever,” he huffed.

Altair laughed. “I can be, when I want. And you do not hate it.” He moved over a bit to Malik. Malik was wary but didn’t move away. “You like it,” Altair said and kissed him against the jaw. It didn’t matter to Altair but he knew Malik was still dwelling on it and it made him awkward and uncomfortable. Malik did not pull away. “You like everything about me.”

Malik made a noise with his mouth and pushed Altair’s head away from him. “You must be listening to Kamal too much,” he declared. “He would have you believe that I am a swooning maiden.”

“No, but he is right about some things.”

“Like what?” Malik challenged.

“That I can do this,” Altair said in English. It was a very useful language to know along with French. Malik knew French and only a handful of words in English so English was much more impressive. “Or this,” he switched to Greek. “That I’m probably smarter than you,” he said in the language Bo spoke. Malik was just staring at him. He said some more things, switching languages at random. He knew a lot of them and Malik just kept looking at him.

Altair smiled in satisfaction when Malik grabbed one side of his face and kissed him in no insignificant way. Malik had grown his beard out for winter but shaved some of it off recently so his face was a bit rough against Altair’s cleanly shaven jaw. Altair kissed him back and in no time at all they were doing what Altair had wanted to do the entire time before Malik had side tracked them and were busy making out.

Altair had his eyes closed but even through it Malik was bright and golden against his eyelids. Sometimes this strange sight still got away from him. Great emotional changes triggered it often against his will or when he was feeling something very strongly. Like happiness. Or love.

They stopped long enough for Altair to push Malik down onto the rug. He had to squint when he looked at him. The unfiltered sight made Malik look like he was looking into a mirror that reflected the sun into his eyes. It was better when he could close his eyes and kiss Malik again.

This went on for a while and Altair felt most of the tension of just his life slide off his shoulders. Malik was touching his face and his rough hand felt nice against the soft skin of his jaw and neck. Altair could do this all night. He’d be happy to actually.

Except they couldn’t because Malik was still Malik.

Honestly he didn’t know why Malik was like this so much. He was _sure_ the older you got the easier it was to control your manhood. Apparently Malik was an exception to the rule because it always ruined times like this. Altair wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. He’d seen it once and once had been more than enough without the traumatizing memory of it. Not to mention there wasn’t anything even appealing about it. He didn’t know why his age mates when he’d been a teenager had bragged about it like it was some gift from god. He’d honestly worried his was weird looking and not as great as everyone else’s for a while before his holy man had set him straight. It wasn’t an attractive thing. Altair barely even thought of it.

Except when he was enjoying kissing his Malik and laying on him or pressed against him and it raised its ugly, one-eyed, head. Very bothersome and extremely annoying all things considered. Couldn’t he just kiss his _habibi_ in peace?

Altair rolled off him without saying anything. Malik barely noticed and just turned towards him. He lifted his shoulder, a bit ticklish from what was left of Malik’s soft whiskers against the sensitive skin of his neck, when Malik kept kissing him. He liked that and shivered a little when Malik used some of his teeth on his neck. That felt nice. But he knew the longer he let this go on the worse it would be. Not for him, but for Malik, and he wasn’t so cruel.

Altair turned and looked at him dreamily. “I think we should think about getting ready for bed.”

“I’d rather not. I like this more,” Malik said and kissed him again. Altair let himself be kissed and Malik put his arm around his waist. Altair opened one eye to look down at his hand carefully. It was okay when Malik slid his hand up his flank and then back down the outside of his thigh. That was the limit of his tolerance before he just couldn’t. He’d had to work up to that too. Before any leg touching was absolutely unacceptable. Malik did that a few times.

Altair didn’t know what he’d been thinking really. Maybe he’d just been caught in the moment. Or thinking with the brain between his legs. Who knew. All Altair knew was that it went from nice and okay to really, _really_ , not okay instantly. Malik’s hand moved up the inside of his thigh and Altair stopped kissing him. He extracted himself from Malik’s side and stood up. “Hey,” Malik called after him, managing to grab the edge of his shirt before he could walk away. “Sorry, it was an accident,” he said with somewhat pouty eyes. Altair’s eyes had washed back out and the colors were real and not so polarizing.

Altair didn’t say anything, he just looked down at Malik’s hand, back up at Malik and rose his eyebrows. Malik positively _sulked_ as he let go and Altair walked over to the door. Jari was still there, reading. “Jari,” he said, startling his guard.

“Y-yes Al Mualim?” Jari asked.

“Has Kamal come in for the night?”

“Yes,” Jari nodded.

“Fetch him, tell him to come get our dinner so the cats do not eat it.”

“Of course,” Jari said and stood up to walk down the hallway where Kamal’s room was.

Altair closed the door and stood there a moment. The movement had been a good distraction so he could recenter himself. Malik was still lying on the ground looking at the ceiling, moody. Altair just stood there. He wasn’t sure what he hated more. That Malik had done that or that he reacted so strongly to something that was obviously a simple accident. Once there’d been a time where it was near vomit inducing. Fuck at one point he could barely piss without his lunch wanting to come up.

He just needed a minute to calm down now and be away from the source of discomfort. Not that it felt bad even. He liked Malik touching him and his body didn’t mind touches like that really. It felt as nice as any other place Malik touched him. His brain would not cooperate with that. It refused to work with it at all and just dumped the entire thing. It was a bad touch as far as his brain was concerned and he hated his fool, faulty, useless, brain made his life so difficult for him to enjoy being with Malik sometimes.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Altair waited a few seconds before opening the door so Kamal wouldn’t think he’d been standing there. “You called me?” Kamal asked as Jari took a seat again.

“Yes. I didn’t want the cats to get into the dinner. Remove it,” he nodded at the remains of the meal. Kamal walked in and started to gather up the half eaten meal quietly. Altair knew Kamal wasn’t stupid enough to not notice that Altair was still standing by the door and Malik looked sullen. He was smart enough to say nothing of it at least.

“Goodnight,” Kamal said before he left. Altair bid him, and Jari, goodnight, before closing the door.

By now Malik had sat up and was looking at him. Altair still stayed by the door. “Altair, you can come back over here. It was an accident.”

“I know,” Altair said. Malik scowled at him for that. “Why don’t you start getting ready for bed. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Malik mulled it over before her got to his feet with a grunt and went into the bedroom. Altair hoped Malik would take the time to relieve his needs. Again. He was sure Malik didn’t think he was that stupid to not notice. Even thinking that Altair knew Malik _was_ that stupid himself. Altair wasn’t blind. He knew about things, he just wanted nothing to do with them. Altair knew Malik was often dissatisfied with what they had and he felt a bit bad for it.

Thinking that he had an idea. He smiled to himself. Malik would not like it. In fact he’d probably be very upset at first and think Altair was playing a joke on him. It would be a bit of a joke but that would be okay. Malik could stand to be teased a bit. Maybe Malik would deal with lingering needs he couldn’t satisfy himself there. Honestly sometimes Altair contemplated just ordering Malik to go bang one of the garden doves so he didn’t have to deal with his lack of sexual fulfillment.

Altair made a noise like he was disgusted by the thought. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He was a strange man.

Altair let Malik have some alone time and went to go pay attention to Sawsan who was very upset with him for ignoring her for so long in favor of making out with Malik. He scratched her on the head and when he meowed at her she meowed back. The rest of the cats came around to rub all over Altair and he pet them. Kanwai found herself on his shoulder, rubbing her head against his face and he smiled. When he made the cat sound again he laughed when he got several responses.

“You are all good,” Altair told them as he gently tugged on Seif’s tail. In his sight they all had a perfect white halo around their fur like they were backlit by the sun. “And safe,” he kissed Sawsan on the top of her head and she purred. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” he asked her. “You can keep Malik honest,” he scratched her under the chin.

Sawsan put her paws on the edge of her birthing box and when Altair stood he scooped her up. The rest of the cats fell away from him and he went to the bedroom door. He stopped and listened first. He heard nothing and opened it. Malik was sitting on the side of the bed, back to Altair. Altair took half a step back. Maybe he hadn’t heard properly? Instead Malik looked over his shoulder at him. “Keep the rest out, I see their sad pleading eyes through your legs,” Malik told him sternly.

“Yes, they say, ‘father, make Malik let us sleep with you again,’” Altair said, pitching his voice up a little. Malik laughed. Altair carefully toed the younger cats away from the door and deposited Sawsan on the bed. Malik was already in his nightgown and Altair changed as well. He sat on the bed once he was finished and rubbed Sawsan’s stomach a bit before getting under the covers.

Malik went to put his hand on Altair to pull him close but Altair was holding Sawsan. Malik grimaced at him and instead got comfortable as he was. He didn’t want Sawsan in his face while he slept which was what would have happened if he made Sawsan the pita filling. Before he closed his eyes Altair turned down the lamp and laid down looking at Malik. “Goodnight, _habibi_ ,” Altair said in the darkness.

Malik said nothing at first. “Can I see your eyes? They are seen best in the dark,” he felt Malik’s fingers on his hand and wrist gently. Altair blinked and then had to look away so Malik didn’t blind him. Malik touched his chin and he looked at him briefly. Then he blinked again and the sight faded before he hurt his eyes. “Thank you,” Malik leaned over and gave him a light good night kiss. “Goodnight.” Even when Malik closed his eyes he kept his hand gently on Altair’s wrist. Altair smiled when he closed his eyes.


	36. Renoir Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve had this character in my deck for a while. I. fucking. love. him. He’s so good. Too good. Altair and Malik do not deserve a man like him.

Malik was tired when he made his way back up to Altair's rooms. Jari was at the door and put his arm across it when Malik made to go in. “What?” Malik asked, confused.

“Altair said he wishes to dine alone.”

“What?” Malik said again. Was Altair angry at him? He didn't think so. They'd been fine the past few weeks and hadn't bickered about anything. Well except for Zonira. But that wasn't enough for Altair to be _mad_ about something. Not when the bastard had _won_. Or was this about the other day? It couldn’t be. Altair knew it was an accident and had been acting normal the last few days since. If that was it he would have been avoidant. So what was it?

“He said he wants to eat alone,” Jari said. “He also said you had a guest in your room and he'll see you after if you desire. But not now.”

Malik was fully thrown for a loop. A guest? A guest he was meeting alone and not with Altair? He hadn’t heard of receiving any guest. “I have a guest? Who is it?”

“I did not see them,” Jari lied right to his face. Meaning Altair had instructed him not to tell. So it was a surprise or a secret. Malik didn't know if he liked this surprise or not.

“Will this make me irritated?” Malik asked Jari with a sigh.

“I don't think so,” Jari shrugged. “I don't believe Altair meant it as such.”

Malik sighed. He had honestly just been looking forward to eating dinner with Altair, laying with him before bed, playing with the cats and just relaxing. “Very well. Tell Altair I'll see him after dinner I guess,” he said, confused.

“I will. Kamal will come along in a bit for your meal,” and Jari stepped back when Malik turned away.

Malik went to his rooms and was surprised that the lamps were lit. Three people were waiting for him inside and Malik’s brow furrowed. It was Sidra, an older woman in a perfectly modest hijab. She looked like Malik’s mother and had a tongue to match. Her hijab was red and gold and Malik thought she looked splendid and regal. On either side of her were two of the fortress doves shrouded in muslin veils and billowing garment so you could only see their eyes. They looked like wispy clouds at sunset next to the statuesque Sidra.

Malik just stood at his open door, staring. Was he hallucinating? He quickly checked down the hall to make sure he hadn't stepped into some strange fever dream. Jari was at his post, back to Malik.

“Hello, Grand Dai,” Sidra said, her voice was velvety and clear.

“Uh… Did I miss something?” he asked slowly.

“No. Come in, it is quite all right,” she beckoned. Malik stepped inside and closed the door. He was confused but also curious. What strange madness was this? What was Sidra, the woman who oversaw the fortress concubines, doing in his room? And with two of said concubines?!

“What are you doing here, Sidra?” he asked cautiously.

“The Grandmaster requested my presence,” she said and Malik stared at her, horrified. He’d been trying to keep his shit together, to respect Altair’s privacy and boundaries. Apparently, he’d not only failed spectacularly but Altair had taken it upon _himself_ to help Malik figure it out. Great. Great! Not really.

“What?” his voice cracked like he was going through puberty again and was further mortified. Especially when one of the veiled women giggled. Oh just _wonderful_. “He did what? Why?”

“He simply requested my help on mediating your stress level. He’s very concerned by how much pressure you’re under. So here I am,” she turned and smiled at each of her doves. “With some stress relief,” she turned back to Malik and he felt his ears redden. Well, he certainly hadn’t expected _this_ when Jari had told him there was someone in his room. Now Jari’s ‘Altair will see you after dinner if you desire’. Yeah as if Malik could do this and then go next door and look Altair in the eye knowing he knew he’d just done something with a concubine.

“I appreciate that but that is unnecessary,” Malik said diplomatically.

“Nonsense,” Sidra said. “My girls have been morose since you stopped coming to see them when you were younger,” and now Malik’s face flushed. 

Like most journeymen and young assassins he’d used the doves… frequently. That was what they were there for since women were otherwise forbidden in the fortress other than as cleaning staff. The cleaning women were a far cry from the doves of the fortress, and usually didn’t make eye contact and were sometimes married to Assassins themselves or were the wives of the men in the village. They never spoke to the assassins or the novices except now and then to scold a novice for being rowdy or disrupting their work or making a huge mess. The fortress doves were a loud bunch who gossiped and talked and flirted and were as well trained as assassins in their own art. Malik had even heard a rumor (they’d all heard the rumor and Malik was sure assassins four generations ago had heard the same rumor) of a dove stabbing an assassin in the side when he was too rough with her. The doves knew the names of every man who visited them and were usually a young assassin’s first woman they laid with and were _very_ good at it. Malik’s face heated more being reminded. The dove who’d made him a man had been so efficient he’d been finished in moments. _Thankfully_ he didn’t have that problem anymore.

“Yes well- as I said, this is unnecessary,” Malik swallowed and tried to make himself stop blushing. He could see the quiet amusement in the doves’ eyes and he felt mildly humiliated.

Sidra sighed a little. “I insist,” she said. “In fact, the Grandmaster insists as well. He wants to know you are in peak condition which is starting to diminish with the weight of responsibilities you’re burdening yourself with. Now, which one would you like to try?” Sidra made a slight hand motion and the doves got up.

“I don’t need-” Malik stopped talking when the doves got to their feet and dropped their billowing muslin clothing. They were naked underneath and now only wore their veils that hid their faces. Malik wasn’t disturbed by them doing this. He was disturbed that one was a _man_. With their clothes on it had been impossible to tell their gender but naked it was obvious. The woman was shapely with wide hips and a soft waist with handfuls of breasts her long black hair in a voluminous cloud behind her. She looked Malik’s age and was beautiful. The man was lithe and toned, but not muscular and looked several years younger than Malik but Malik thought that was because of the choice to shave off all his body hair except that around his privates and lower legs. “Uh…”

“They’re here for your benefit, Grand Dai,” Sidra said.

“We have… male concubines?” Malik was so surprised he actually said what he was thinking. The girl looked at her male counterpart and giggled a little and Malik felt foolish when the man rolled his eyes a little.

“What? You think you’re the only dangerous man we’ve had come to us needing something… _else_?” Sidra asked. “My doves are all sorts. Which one would you prefer? Or should I leave them both here for your use?”

“Uh- I do not want either,” Malik said awkwardly. Well lied awkwardly really. But it felt like adultery if he did anything with them.

“The Grandmaster said I was to leave at least one here. He said you’d be stubborn and I should not listen to you.”

“The Grandmaster is presumptuous is what he is,” Malik said but could still not stop staring at either of them. 

The woman was beautiful but so was, in a strange way, the man, and Malik could not stop looking at him. He’d never seen him when he’d gone down to the garden when he’d been younger, or any man for that matter. Only women. Well except the guards who ensured the doves were looked after and no harm came to them. Sometimes one of their men could get violent with the woman they were bedding and it was their responsibility to deal with that. 

Now that Malik was thinking about it he’d never seen those shifts on the guard shifts and Navid never spoke of giving that guard detail to his men. Was this man one of the guards? Malik had another worried thought. Did that mean they were an Assassin? Surely not. They couldn’t afford to lose anyone and Malik and Altair would have noticed if some novices had been sent to guard the doves. As it was they had to authorize any journeymen track. There was no way to just spirit one away.

Sidra just pretended not to hear him. “Shall I leave the girl?” she asked. Malik hesitated. He didn't want either but if he was being forced he wouldn't have picked her. Not that he didn't like women but his frustration wasn't over a woman. He had an image to uphold, didn't he? He hesitated a fraction too long for Sidra. “Noor, get dressed, we are going.” Sidra rose gracefully and Malik was slow to correct them. Noor pulled her billowing muslin back up and around her. Sidra grabbed her hand and shooed her out the door. “Good day, Grand Dai,” Sidra said.

“Hey, I didn't-”

Too late. Sidra and Noor disappeared out the door and Malik was still too disoriented to have stopped them anyway. He was still sort of spinning.

Malik turned back around and the man was still standing there. Malik prickled in awkwardness. “What can I do for you?” he asked. Pleasant as could be. Malik had to assume he did this often.

“You could start by putting some clothes on, please,” he added realizing he sounded very mean.

The man chuckled, “Of course,” and they pulled the muslin up around him though only around his waist so his chest was bare. He wasn't insulted or upset Malik had asked him that. Malik nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock on his door. _Now_ what?

“Grand Dai, I have dinner,” Kamal called from the outside. Right. Dinner. Malik went to get the door and shook himself mentally. He needed to get his shit together. He opened the door but when Kamal made to push it open Malik caught it with his foot. “Uh, sir?”

“Just give me the tray,” Malik said.

Kamal blinked at him. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Malik said.

“Okay,” he said slowly and offered the handled tray to Malik. Behind him Malik could hear the concubine moving about, rustling things. Malik wanted to look and see what he was doing but had enough self-control to not. Malik put it against his hip and held it with one hand. “Do you need anything else, sir?”

“Tell Altair when I see him I'm going to punch him,” Malik said and Kamal looked uneasy. “In the face,” Malik added. “And I'm going to kill him too.” Now Kamal smiled a little.

“I will Grand Dai,” Kamal said, trying to keep the smile out of his mouth with limited success. 

“Do not disturb me tonight. Not even to come get the dishes. You can get them in the morning,” Malik said sternly. 

“Why?”

“Kamal,” he growled a warning.

“Okay!” and he darted off. Ugh! Nosy child!

“Let me help you with that, Grand Dai,” and Malik was so startled he nearly dropped the tray. The man was dressed in a guard’s uniform, without weapons or harness. Just the whites and Malik was helpless when he took the tray in both hands. Malik quickly kicked the door closed. The man put the tray down on the big rug and started to set out their dinner.

Malik went over to him slowly. He still felt disorientated by the entire thing and hasn't had a chance to get his head around what was going on. The man even wore his hood up and Malik just sat down slowly. “Where did you get that uniform?” he asked once the tray was empty.

They looked up at him. “It's my outfit of course,” he said and leaned back some. “I'm not here to make you uncomfortable, Grand Dai.”

“Then what was _that_?” Malik asked, meaning Sidra.

They chuckled, “Mother Sidra likes her dramatics is all. She's got nothing better to do other than scold the men who use my sisters roughly. But this is my outfit, same as them in their pretty veils and muslin. Most of those I see are used to men dressed like this, it makes them uncomfortable otherwise.”

Malik couldn't help himself, “And how many is that?”

He smiled a little, “More than you'd expect.”

“What's your name?”

“Kabir,” he said cheerfully. Malik was so thrown with just how… Happy Kabir sounded. There was no blood on his hands or death clinging to his shoulders. “It is an honor,” he bowed a bit sitting and Malik flushed. “Please, I know you've had a long day. You should have dinner. The Grandmaster told us to make sure your surprise didn't stop you.”

“He did now?”

“Mhm! He was very concerned for your well-being, so please don't be cross with him. Or punch him,” he added.

Malik eyed Kabir but the man didn't make him that uncomfortable now that he was in normal clothes. He helped himself to his dinner. It immediately got awkward again when Kabir did not join him. “You too. It's uncomfortable eating and you are not,” Malik told him.

Kabir smiled. He was very good at that. Smiling. “Thank you. I was not going to presume.” Kabir helped himself.

“How old are you?” Malik asked because he couldn't shake the thought. Naked, he looked significantly younger than Malik. Haytham or Jari’s age, but with his hood up and dressed in real clothes he looked more Malik’s age. It was bothering him.

“Forty, why?”

Malik blinked. “You lie,” he accused, but not without good nature in his tone.

Kabir laughed. “Nope. I turned forty in the summer. Why? I do not look forty?”

“I thought you were my age,” Malik said.

“You? Hah, no. Though I am flattered. Some of your brothers are not so kind.”

“They would call you old?”

“Old _enough_. The younger guards are more entertaining for your young men. They don't want an old man like me, and all my old friends have died, gotten married, or settled.”

“Settled for what?”

“That they would rather be alone than pretend for a night,” Kabir said sadly. “Not all of them, but many.”

“That sounds very sad,” Malik said.

“It is, isn't it? Very few happy stories from my friends. Their best friend dies and they come to me and say ‘Kabir, so and such is gone, why do I feel this way? Is this wrong of me? How do I mourn them without giving it away?’ And they stay with me for a time.”

“You know much, as you are not even so old, Kabir,” Malik said.

“One of the oldest left. Just like the other doves we retire when we are no longer young and beautiful. Sidra values my experience, though.”

Even as he asked Malik flushed, “With what such things?”

Kabir’s grin was sweet. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I think I am fine,” Malik said but had to clear his throat.

“You don't have to feel bad, Malik,” he said and it was the first time he'd called Malik by his name. “I am here to help you. Whatever that may be. Even if it just talk,” he gulped his tea. “Allah knows I have had been on this side of this conversation more times than I can count,” he giggled. Not laughed, giggled. It was odd but comforting. “Even for guards like me. And all the boys who are confused by what they feel. You know your young scribe has visited me-

“What!” Malik couldn't help but yell. He thought of Kamal as a younger brother, or maybe like a nephew. He knew, just from speaking to him, that Kabir was not some creepy man, but the idea of Kamal doing anything just… weirded him out. It was like when he found out Kadar was a _regular_ down with the doves and always got into trouble with Dais in various cities with his age mates for seducing girls with his charming smile, cunning tongue, and pretty blue eyes.

“Nothing like what you are thinking,” Kabir assured him. “One of the doves gave him to me when he told her he really was just there because a friend had dared him and he had no desire for her. We talked. He is a very nice young man.”

Malik hesitated. “Did he confess his feelings for his doctor to you?”

“Eventually,” Kabir said like he was commenting on some nice weather. This entire thing did not affect him at all. “The young guards don't know what to do with awkward young novices who doesn't even know what they like.”

“Is that a veiled motion that neither do I?”

“Who am I to say?” Kabir asked. Their dinner was done now and Malik couldn't remember eating but he was full and the tea was gone. “I do not care either way. At the very least I know you are curious. And if what Mother Sidra told me, unhappy.”

“I am not,” Malik said stubbornly.

“Oh, so your feelings and desires are not unrequited?” Kabir asked. Malik had no good comeback for that. Altair responded to Malik’s romantic feelings just fine. It was the everything else, his desires, that were not reciprocated. “They are.”

“Not so much. Some things are, some aren't.”

“Then isn't that unhappiness? That you must lie to them and yourself?”

“I do not lie.”

“The Grandmaster would say otherwise,” and Malik stiffened. “He is not unaware and has nothing to give you.”

“You would know?” Malik asked bitterly.

“Yes,” Kabir said. “He comes down and sees me too. We talk. He has since he was a young man.”

“Helping a confused novice?”

“Yes. He is… Different. But you will get nothing from him. Affection perhaps, but little else.” That made Malik's heart break a little. He'd been afraid of that very thing for years but had been trying to brush it off that he’d… damaged Altair that night in Jerusalem and he did not trust Malik like that. That he could not open up to Malik again like Malik had forced open that one time because Malik had broken something there.

“That is none of your concern,” Malik said.

“No,” Kabir agreed. “But my concern is with you. Sidra told Noor and I, ‘no matter what, make sure the Grand Dai is happy’.” Malik flushed at that. No doubt she’d been told by Altair to do that. “There is no shame is _needing_. Even if you must go elsewhere.”

“And what if I do not want to?”

“Then I will not force you. But why wouldn’t you? There is nothing for you. Would you feel guilty for whatever may come from me? Or are you scared? You don’t even know what it means, or how it works.” Malik silence was answer enough. All of it. “But I am sure you’re curious,” Kabir said nicely. “I would be too with someone like Altair around all the time,” and Kabir laughed, this time at Malik who’s face became so hot you could cook kebab on it. 

“He must be _very_ distracting,” Kabir teased him a bit and Malik was floundering. He’d never been spoken to like this. Like that his feelings were natural and normal and yes, of course, someone as attractive as Altair would make anyone distracted or frustrated. Just the validation that he wasn’t defective in some way from other men made him feel strangely happy. He and his friends used to tease each other about girls like this.

Malik cleared his throat with a slight cough. “He uh, is,” Malik said shyly. Kabir smiled at him and Malik weirdly thought the other man was proud of him. Proud of what? That Malik could admit that he had feelings? Coming from a man as giving with them as Kabir that meant quite a bit since Malik was exactly the opposite.

“I’m sure,” Kabir said and had moved a bit closer to Malik. “He’s a very private man isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Malik agreed.

“But I’m sure you know him better than anyone, no?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?” Kabir asked. 

Malik was about to when he came up short and held his hand out. “I would ask for your secrecy then.”

“Of course,” Kabir said.

“No, you misunderstand my seriousness,” Malik said, tone hardening. “You seem like a nice fellow, but that you would gossip with the doves. There are people who would do much to know secrets about Altair that wish him, myself, and the Order, harm. If I tell you something and I find out that someone else knows; I will kill you.”

Kabir was more reserved when he said, “I understand. I will tell no one. Now tell me, about him. Or not even about him. A thousand of your brothers could give me a thousand things that admire about our Mentor. I want to know what _you_ like about _him_.”

Malik felt self-conscious even as he said. “Well,” Kabir just looked at him openly. It was so different from Altair who he had to read like a latin script and wrestle the truth from. Kabir wore his emotions freely to the point Malik would have been blind to them had they not been so great and earnest. He saw Kabir would not judge anything he said here. “He is very handsome.”

“He is,” Kabir agreed. “What do you find most handsome about him?”

Malik could not keep his face under control to save his life this entire meeting. It flared up and down like he was climbing walls. His ears turned a bit pink when he confessed, “His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking unless you look right into them. Though I think that’s just because I know him so well.”

“What color are they? Describe them for me?” Kabir said and Malik found that Kabir was lounging on the rugs and pillows next to him, all stretched out and comfortable. Malik imagined that if he was a cat his tail would be twitching gently in pleasure.

“I feel rather foolish with this,” Malik admitted awkwardly.

“Do not!” Kabir said cheerfully. “It is good to tell others how you feel. Especially for things like this. There are not many around willing to understand without becoming angry. You do not need to hide or censor. Who am I to judge?” he chuckled. “I have done things that would put some you have to shame.”

“I think murder will win,” Malik said.

“Ah, then you know nothing of sex,” Kabir said, amused. “Now tell me about Altair’s eyes,” he pressed. Malik was reluctant before doing as he was asked. 

Kabir asked him all about parts of Altair. Nothing of his real secrets. He wanted to know all the things Malik liked about him, the things he did that made Malik happy and things that infuriated him. He wanted to know about the cats and grilled Malik for information about Sawsan until Malik was blue in the face. He asked about how Altair treated Malik and their relationship. Which had Malik stuttering and stammering feeling as shy and awkward as a teenage boy. Kabir asked Malik to speak at length on Altair’s relationships with others. How he acted towards Kamal and their various door guards and his other friends. He asked what they fought over and how they made up and what was the worst fight and what days stuck out for Malik as being particularly excellent.

It seemed like no time at all when Kabir suddenly yawned. “Excuse me, Malik,” he said, covering his mouth.

Malik suppressed his own yawn. “It can’t be so late can it?” Malik asked and craned around. The candle clock that Malik had stopped to light when the sun had set was nearly burned down to the stub. That candle burned for five hours. “It's nearly midnight,” Malik said, stunned.

“It is? No wonder I’m so tired,” Kabir yawned and stretched. “Well, perhaps we should go to sleep.”

“Yes?” Malik asked. Kabir got to his feet and cracked his back with a satisfying groan.

“Not together, if you were worried,” Kabir chuckled. “You are _way_ too shy for that.” Malik had been called many things. ‘Shy’ was never one of them. “I am ready for my bed, as I am sure you’re ready for yours,” he yawned again.

“Yes,” Malik said.

Kabir lowered his hood finally. He offered Malik a hand and helped pull Malik to his feet. They went to Malik’s door. Kabir put his hand on the door before Malik could open it. “We should spend more time together, Malik,” he said.

“Is that an innuendo?”

“Do you want it to be?” Kabir’s smile was flirty. Malik wouldn’t have called it flirty before but now he recognized it for what it was. “You could close your eyes if you wanted. I could be whoever you wanted.” Malik flushed. He thought he had that under control by now. “Don’t even say you aren’t curious. You’re in too deep to not be curious.” Malik didn’t deny him that. 

“Kabir, you are a very strange man,” Malik said.

Kabir chuckled, “And yet so useful, no? Just like your Altair. Well, goodnight Malik. I’m sure the Grandmaster will call on Sidra again when you inevitably make _him_ uncomfortable with your needs, and I will be back. We’ll see if we can’t do something about it better next time,” and winked at Malik. Before Malik could even protest that there would _not_ be a next time Kabir leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and slipped out of his room. Malik was left standing there, too surprised to go after him.

“He is a very strange man,” Malik told himself. He went around snuffing out the lamps Sidra had lit before leaving his room. Christopher was seated down the hall, arms crossed, head bowed. He wasn’t asleep, Malik could tell by the way he breathed, but he was resting. Kabir was nowhere to be seen.

Malik went into Altair’s rooms. The front room was dark, the older kittens laying about on the rugs and pillows. Sawsan was in her box, her belly was getting bigger every day, and her children slept around her on the rug. They all looked happy and well fed and Malik knew that they’d be up and about in a short time to play with one another before going back to sleep and would do it again before waking a third time for breakfast.

When Malik went into the bedroom it was also dark in there and he could see the shape of Altair’s sleeping form on the bed. Malik undressed in the dark and did his best not to fumble around for his sleeping gown. Altair woke when he knelt on the bed and when Malik got in next to him he cracked open his eyes. They were pure gold and almost seemed to glow out against the darkness. “Malik,” Altair grumbled in his sleep, reaching for him. “Don’t punc’ me.”

Malik chuckled, “Not this time, _habibi_ ,” Malik said and kissed Altair’s sleepy mouth.

Altair woke a bit more, still able to fall immediately back to sleep if needed, but he could talk. “Is everything fine now?”

Malik did his best not to sigh. “Yes, _habibi_ , it is,” Malik lied. His time with Kabir had just made him realize and compounded just _how_ important to Malik Altair was.

“Good,” Altair closed his golden eyes and it was like the sun had once more gone to sleep for the night. Malik couldn’t help himself and gently stroked Altair’s cheek. Altair smiled a bit and snuggled against him. That made Malik happy. Altair put his arm over Malik’s side, pressing against his chest and Malik felt his chest swell. Nothing else did at least. Malik closed his eyes and slept, he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story consider leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.


	37. Fire King Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we come. To the meat of the thing.
> 
> Also, title cards have been updated. Now every chapter has a pretty lily picture.

Once the boring paperwork was done Altair didn’t feel guilty getting up and leaving. Malik didn’t want him around anyway. He did motion for Kamal to stay and he knew that annoyed him. Kamal didn’t like being kept at the Grandmaster’s desk during the afternoon. That was really too bad. He wasn’t useful to Altair in the afternoon. So instead he left Kamal and Kadar both there with Malik and if Kamal was upset Kadar was even more so. All the cats knew Altair’s lap was the best place to sit when they wanted attention and now the big, gray, tom would have to make due with Kamal or Malik paying attention to him.

Altair walked across the fortress to the library. It was mostly empty except for the librarians and a few older novices pouring over some books in their down time before some lecture or test. There was also one of their scholars off in the corner with a young boy, slowly teaching him how to write. When Altair had told them he wanted to train the boy to write the one before this one had laughed at him. Teach the blind to write? What silliness was that? Altair had put him on novice disciplinary duty after that. Responsible for cleaning out stables. Normally Altair would have just wanted to kill the man for the insolence and laughing in his face but they couldn't afford to lose their learned men right now, they were too few. So stable cleaning for the month was good enough punishment.

The next man hadn’t laughed or said it was impossible. He just said it would be very difficult. Altair said to do it anyway.

He walked up to the table and the tutor looked up. His eyes were tired at given an impossible task. Jihad didn’t notice him. He was writing something. Altair glanced over at the page. Each word was in line with itself but they weren’t lined up with each other. “Grandmaster,” the tutor said as greeting.

Jihad’s head immediately popped up. “Altair,” he said, excited as ever to see him, or not see him but know he was there.

“How does it go?” Altair asked him.

“It is slow,” the tutor said, “but we celebrate small victories. Right Jihad?” he asked the boy. Jihad nodded enthusiastically. “Show the Grandmaster.”

Jihad felt around a little to make sure his inkwell wouldn’t get knocked over and then turned the paper he was writing on. Altair leaned over the table to look down at it. He was not a little amused it looked a lot like his bad handwriting but if anything Jihad’s was more legible than Altair’s because he only wrote in one language and Altair in whichever one felt best to write in for that word. “Very good, Jihad,” he said and Jihad smiled in his direction. “Writing lessons are over for the day. Come with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Jihad said. The tutor helped him pack up his things and leave them in a neat pile on the table. These few seats in the library were strictly off limits to other novices so Jihad could come here and know where things were anytime he wanted to come here to practice by himself. Altair just waited and Jihad got up, adjusted his uniform a little and reached out for Altair.

Altair allowed the boy to grab hold of his sleeve. He nodded at the tutor who was putting his own things away and walked out with Jihad. “We’re going up stairs, Jihad,” Altair said after they’d walked a bit.

“Okay. How many stairs?”

“A lot of stairs, I will tell you when we get to each landing.”

“Thank you.”

They walked up and up and up to one of the highest points in the fortress accessible by stairs and not climbing and Altair stopped at a window with an ornate grate over it. He gently took Jihad’s hand off his sleeve so he could open the grate. Cool air blew in from the bottom of the mountain ruffling their clothing. “Master, where are we?” Jihad asked. “Are we on another wall tower?”

“Why don’t you look and tell me where we are?”

Jihad frowned. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes they were no longer brown, but gold and bright as the sun overhead. Jihad almost immediately closed his eyes and covered his face with his arm. “It’s so bright.”

Altair put a hand across his shoulder and kept him close to the big window. “The world is bright,” Altair said. Then he looked down at Jihad, “You were progressing well before. Now you are not. What’s the matter?”

“Huh?” Jihad looked up at him with his blind eyes.

“When we first began you were able to keep your eyes open. Now you close them all the time.” Jihad’s eyes moved around but did so unseeingly. “You are not moving forward in being able to see, in being useful to the Order.”

“Master, I’m blind-

“You allow yourself to be blind. Allah did not give you normal eyes but blessed you with another way to see. I said I would teach you but if you allow yourself to willfully be blind…” Altair frowned. Jihad put his head down. “Is something wrong?” After a moment Jihad nodded. “What is it?” Jihad didn’t say. Altair knelt down next to him and turned Jihad so he faced Altair. “Jihad, I am the only one who will understand. Tell me.”

Jihad looked up about where Altair’s face was. “It hurts sometimes. A lot,” he licked his lips. “Down in the halls I was trying to see more to build up my tolerance. I did it even when it hurt and the next day I woke up and my roommates were distraught. They said I was bleeding from my eyes. Or I had bled from my eyes and hadn’t felt it. I’m scared. I don’t want to let you down… but it hurts when I see, Altair.” He swallowed like he was making sure he didn’t cry in front of Altair.

Altair stared at him. Such a thing had never occurred to him. That it would cause pain. His own sight never pained him but it was not the single source of his vision. But why would it hurt Jihad? Perhaps Allah knew and was punishing Altair. That he would continue to fail, to destroy everything he touched. But that couldn’t be right. Allah was a lie. A figment created by weaker men to make their deeds acceptable to others. So they could freely drink from the well of disgrace and say later to themselves that it was Allah’s will.

Altair got up and closed the grate across the window, shutting out much of the light in the area. He held the latch staring through the holes out across the mountain. If Allah did not exist then he was responsible for his own actions. Altair always knew that though it was hard to care about it sometimes. What did his actions matter to men who weaker than him, who bent and broke before his piercing gaze? He wasn’t responsible and beholden to no one. Not even Malik. He obeyed because it was easier to do as commanded than do the long thinking he knew Malik agonized over.

This was perhaps the only time Altair had ever been responsible for anyone other than himself.

Everyone else in Altair’s sphere of influence could think and act and do for themselves. Even Dhiya was able to defend herself and despite what had happened even Kamal fought against a bully. They were not helpless things. They were scared and uncertain of their future but not helpless. Even if Altair did nothing others did in his stead. Rakkim had protected Kamal and would have done more so had the bullying continued. Dhiya had her father and brother. Altair did not even entertain for a moment that Mika wouldn’t kill whoever may harm his daughter no matter what oath he took to the Order or to Altair. He cast them in his extra protection because it was what he could do, to give them a chance.

It had never even entered his mind that someone close to him would be honestly, through no fault of their own, helpless.

Not for the first time Altair knew he was a fool.

What else other than a fool didn’t see a blind boy as helpless?

He went and kneeled in front of Jihad again. “Jihad, look at me,” he said. Jihad’s blind eyes focused as best they could on where his face was, directed by the sound of his voice. “No, look at me Jihad.” He put his hands on Jihad’s shoulders.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” Jihad said.

“It is darker now. Open light can be blinding. Now look at me.”

Jihad sniffed and rubbed his nose. How had Altair not seen? He was a boy, probably not even older than ten. Jihad didn’t know how old he was. He didn’t know when he’d been born other than ‘I think it was in summer’ and had been too young when his parents had been killed to know dates. But he was a child.

Jihad blinked and his eyes went from brown to gold. He squinted looking at Altair. “What do you see?” he asked Jihad.

“I see you,” Jihad said and reached out, touching his chest.

“What color am I?”

“Blue,” he said.

“Do you know what color you are for me?” Altair asked him.

Jihad looked up and right into his eyes, confused. Altair rarely talked about what he saw in this sight because it was things from nightmares. The sight was seeing the truth of things as you fully, totally believed them to be and how the world understood them to be to some extent as well. For a man like Altair who’s hands were so coated in blood sometimes all he saw was blood and treason and failure of character because that was how he saw the world. Other than Malik he never divulged the color of people around him. One because it would mean exposing his ability and two because knowing how others thought of you in truth was power and Altair did not want people to have that sort of power over him.

“No,” Jihad said.

“What color do you think?”

Jihad frowned a little. “Blue?”

“No. You’re not blue, Jihad.” Jihad licked his lips with no small amount of anxiety. “What color have you told me you have never seen?”

“Yellow,” Jihad said.

“Now guess.”

“Am I… yellow?”

“Yes. You are.” Jihad blinked again and his eyes became brown. He rubbed his eyes and there was water in them. Not tears. But his eyes were wet from the exercise regardless. “Do you know why?” Jihad shook his head. “Because you are special to me. Before we found you I thought I was alone, just like you did.”

“Really? But you always have all those people around you.”

“And yet they are blind compared to me; to us. They cannot see as we see. I had to grow up not knowing and had to figure it out as I went. But blindly being told Allah had given me a special gift I did not want because it made me strange. So when I look at you I see the real gift Allah gave me,” if Allah existed at all. “A boy like me who doesn’t have to suffer growing up with this condition blindly, or terrified of what I saw, not knowing what it was I see.

“I did not know that your seeing is any different than mine. All I know if my own. I did not knows yours could hurt you and it is not my intention to hurt you.”

Jihad bit his lip before saying, “What is your intention then? I know we are the same but I will never do things like the other novices. I can’t run or jump or fight or-

“You will,” Altair said.

“I can’t see-

“You will,” Altair said again. “But it will be in sips and glances, not in wide staring like our other novices. You have a gift, Jihad, and your parents named you well. But this is a trial that will better you.”

“I don’t want it to hurt though.”

“I know,” Altair said. “And I do not wish to hurt you either. So for now, we will not being doing the seeing exercises.”

“No?” Jihad asked, perking up a bit.

“No,” Altair stood and reached for Jihad’s hand. “I can see through the sight without limits, but my sight is different. It infects my vision even when I do not see in these shades. If extended periods hurt then we will build stamina very slowly and work on other things to help you navigate the world instead.”

“Like what?” Jihad asked as Altair walked away from the window. He had his hand around Jihad’s small hand and he had to take three steps for each of Altair’s.

“Do you remember the exercise we did with my door guards?”

“Yes,” Jihad nodded.

“Think like that.” Jihad just made a noise in his mouth but said nothing. He rubbed his eyes some more as Altair led him down a few flights of stairs to the Grandmaster’s apartments. Christopher was sitting watch, bored, picking his nose and nearly cut himself on his own hidden blade to drop his hand when he saw Altair. “Christopher.”

“Master,” Christopher bowed a little in his chair.

Altair stopped in front of him. “I need you to run and errand. Or get Kamal and have him do it. I don’t care which. Bring heavy drapes to my room that will block out the light from the windows.”

“May I inquire why?” Christopher asked.

“Because I wish it to be dark,” Altair said, giving him a look. “Do not question me, do it.”

“Ah-! Of course, sir. Sorry, sir,” Christopher said as he lurched out of the chair and practically ran down the stairs.

“You didn’t have to be mean to him. He’s nice,” Jihad said.

Altair looked down at him with fondness. Oh Jihad. He didn’t know how cruel Altair could be. How horrible and vile and monstrous his true self was. That was why he had no mirrors in the room. He did not even want to glance his reflections. “I was not. I was reminding Christopher of his place in things. He is my guard and loyal sword and servant. If he had disobeyed I would have actually been mean.”

With that he shepherded Jihad into his apartments. He had him sit on the rug and the cats came to investigate him. At first Jihad was nervous of the creatures before finding them to be felines and they graciously accepted his petting like they were doing him some grand favor in letting him stroke their heads or under their chins. Altair went into his bedroom and took off his blacks. He undressed and clothed himself again in more comfortable clothes. When he went back out he was pleased to see his cats had made friends with Jihad.

He went over to them and sat with them. “Who do they belong to?” Jihad asked, petting the brothers dutifully.

“Me,” Altair said.

“You?”

“Yes. They are my most treasured things. I do not allow just anyone near them,” he pet Kanwai on the top of the head and playfully tugged on the end of Kadar’s gray tail.

“What are their names?”

“I will tell you once Christopher returns,” Altair said. Jihad pouted a little but did not argue. He liked petting the cats and they in turn accepted the petting.

Christopher wasn’t gone long. He knocked and Altair got the door. “As requested, Master,” Christopher said.

“Help me hang them,” Altair instructed. Christopher entered the room and helped Altair drape the heavy fabric over the curtain rods already installed to hold up more translucent curtains. There were three windows to cover and once they were done Altair bid Christopher to leave again.

“Will you tell me their names now?” Jihad asked once Altair sat with him.

Altair reached over and took one of Jihad’s hands. “Tell me, who are they?” He asked as he placed Jihad’s hand gently on Seif’s deep gray coat.

Jihad’s sight had a secondary gift to it. He could see a thing through touch and know it as well as Altair did with his eyes. Jihad did see a lot with his hands, always touching things to know their shape or texture, to learn his world through his fingertips alone. Altair didn’t think it was actually a special gift like his sight, but rather he understood better what he touched because of his sight. Seif licked Jihad’s fingers as he touched the cat’s head and face with gentle hands. “Friendly. They have a funny bump on their skull from something. Short whiskers and the fur is longer than the others.”

“Now look at him.”

Jihad hesitated but did change his eyes. Altair only allowed it for a moment before he covered Jihad’s eyes with his hands. “Hey! What?”

“Now tell me, what did you see?”

“I saw… I don’t know?”

“Did you see a cat? Or the shape of the cat? Did you see texture your hands know? The short whiskers and long fur?”

Jihad said nothing a second. “Can I take a second look?” Altair briefly lifted his hand and placed it back across Jihad’s eyes. “He has yellow eyes,” he said.

“He does have yellow eyes,” Altair said. “And his claws are very sharp. His name is Seif.”

“Seif,” Jihad said like committing it to memory.

They did a similar thing with the rest of the kittens though Jihad was allowed to open and close his eyes in the dim light of the room. Once Altair was satisfied Jihad had seen the cat he told him their name and he was always happy every time he learned one.

Then last, of course, came Sawsan. She’d been in her box the entire time, her belly noticeable. She wasn’t interested in Jihad like her children were but she was also a pregnant lady and pregnant women were known for their moods. He set her down in front of Jihad and she acted bored with his gentle attention of scratching her just under the jaw or between the ears. Altair saw the way the tip of her tail curled in pleasure.

“Now, who is this?” Altair asked.

Jihad ran his careful fingers across Sawsan’s head, chest, and flank. He turned and looked at Altair with both confused and accusatory eyes, his black brows drawing down and creasing his young forehead. “They’re you,” he said. Altair sat there and said nothing. He just stared. “Altair?” he reached out to make sure Altair was still there and Altair hadn’t left him alone. Jihad’s fingers found his thigh.

“I think I misheard you,” Altair said. “What did you say?” Jihad didn’t know if he should lie. “I am not angry. You do not need to tease out your words.”

“I said they feel like you.”

At that Sawsan meowed sharply. “And what is that?”

“Mmm,” Jihad pet Sawsan some more, his hand now resting half off Altair’s leg so he knew Altair was still there and perhaps to make sure that the two were actual separate things. “It is difficult to explain. I just know that they are like you.”

“I am not a cat,” Altair said.

“No,” Jihad agreed. Jihad blinked in and out of sight of a fey times, his eyes like shuttered lanterns. “But the rest are forthcoming, this one is not. They feel like… mmmm,” he thought long on what he wanted to say. “Like they have seen things.” Jihad looked at Altair with his blind eyes again. “Like you have. I don’t know what, but you’re an Assassin. I have to assume it was not a pretty thing they saw.”

“Her name is Sawsan,” Altair said. She stood up and stepped over to Altair. As she did she flicked Jihad in the nose with the tip of her tail and Altair smiled a little at that. “She is the mother of all the others you saw today.”

“Heh. I like that you named her daughters like that,” Jihad said. “Do you like lilies, Altair?”

“They are poisonous plants who mask their danger in their beauty,” Altair said. “I appreciate them.”

“I have never seen or touched one. Just heard of them. Are they really beautiful?”

“They are,” Altair said.

Jihad blinked his eyes open. In the darkened room it did not strain his eyes so much to see. “Why is she you though?”

Altair was rubbing Sawsan’s chest where she sat in front of him. He could feel the swell of her stomach from the new kittens she’d have soon. Very soon. A few weeks more. She was nowhere near as fat as with her first litter, so the litter would be smaller. She was purring, happy and content with the attention. “Why is she like me?”

“No,” Jihad said.

Altair said nothing for a bit. He did not want to say things that would scare the boy. Had this been an older boy or a grown man and been convinced to share these things he would not spared the details. Just to watch their faces. To see them grimace and squirm under the horrific things that Altair could say.

Instead he said, “I made friends with her mother on the road. I fed her scraps of my meal. One day she did not return for food and I went looking for her. I found a burrow she’d claimed. A predator had gotten into it. They’d killed Sawsan’s mother and the rest of the litter. But not Sawsan.” He could have spoken of the blood. Of the gore and tiny broken limbs, matted fur stuck against walls, and stench of death that had even made _his_ stomach roll. How the burrow had been eviscerated by some creature, gouged out by claws to get at the easy prey within. It could have been a wolf, a leopard, or a lone male lion without a pride looking for a meal. It could have been anything larger that would have loved to eat a cat and her litter but Altair had never known.

He kept the specifics out of this telling. “Somehow the predator had missed her. Or it was satisfied and moved on. I found her in there, crying for her mother. I was surprised something else hadn’t found her first. So I took her with me to Jerusalem.” He didn’t mention the confusion or that he thought of the mercy he could give the poor, helpless thing instead. A mercy through death in a world that wanted to devour it. He didn’t mention Aaban and how when he looked at Sawsan, all matted with blood, her eyes open but so small she fit in the palm of his hand, all he saw was a cat he could save like he couldn’t his Aaban. How he’d just let his late mother’s cat get slaughtered in front of him and how he’d wept like a fool from the loss of it and the new scar on his face.

“Malik took care of her after that,” Altair said.

“Ah,” Jihad said. “Perhaps that is it then.”

“What is it then?”

“That is why she feels like you. Because Malik looks after you both.”

Altair softened a little. If nothing else Jihad was an idealist on how this had happened. He didn’t know what had happened in Jerusalem. Like the horror of how he had found Sawsan Altair would not tell him of that horror either. He would not tell anyone that horror. Hardly even himself. “Yes,” he said instead.

Jihad smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad someone like Malik looks after you, even if he isn’t blue.”

“He isn’t?”

“No,” Jihad said, “He’s white, obviously.”

Altair chuckled. “Yes, that does sound about right for Malik,” he agreed.

He looked away from Jihad when there was a stern knocking on the door. “Master,” Kamal called.

“Kamal doesn’t know about what we do, hide your eyes,” Altair told Jihad. Jihad dutifully dimmed his eyes. “Enter,” Altair barked.

Kamal entered. The scribe was white as a ghost and his hood was a bit askew. “Master, we just received a message from Jerusalem.”

Altair didn’t like the sound of that. “From Zonira?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kamal swallowed thickly.

“She’s not dead is she?”

“No,” Kamal said. Then he cleared his throat and composed himself. “An-Nasir Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub, Sultan of the Holy Land and Egypt… is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story consider leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.


	38. Brasilia Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!

The few days after the news had arrived were a whirlwind for Malik. Suddenly he wasn’t just going to Jerusalem for the Meeting of the Dais. Now he was going for the funeral of the Sultan.

Zaki had been the one to bring the news. He’d been as white as his beard as he’d come up to Malik’s desk and handed him the unrolled scroll. Zonira had written it and the penmanship had been perfect, elegant, and feminine. Funny that Malik would remember an insignificant thing like the penmanship of the calligraphy and not the actual message itself. He’d read it but he couldn’t recall the actual words. When he brought the scroll up in his mind’s eye it was blank but had born the news of the Sultan’s death.

Altair had, predictably, hated the idea of Malik going to Jerusalem early. Not to mention that he wouldn’t be allowed to come. They’d had a shouting match about it the morning after the message had come down at the desk. Malik couldn’t really remember what he’d said. He just knew that Altair had stormed off, furious, and Kamal had stayed only long enough to give Malik another message from Zaki. It was about fitting for clothes he’d wear in Jerusalem. His Grand Dai robes were fancy enough for day to day things but the funeral of a Sultan? Not to mention the events around it.

Turned out their argument hadn’t made difference in their relationship like their fight about Dhiya had. Altair had still kissed him goodnight and fallen asleep with his chin on the meat of Malik’s left shoulder.

The three days following he’d met with Munahid more than he’d seen the man in nearly three years to make sure there was a plan for everything. He’d spoken with Zaki and Abyan about what he should do. He’d spoken with Rauf about handling things with Altair since he knew he could handle Altair’s tantrums or stubbornness better than Zaki and Abyan. Mainly because Rauf was young but also because Rauf might have been the only one in the fortress besides Malik that Altair genuinely respected and not just because it was his job to respect them. He’d also seen the tailor who’d apparently already had fancy formal clothes for him that just needed to be fitted to his size and his guards had also been seen to as well. He’d managed to squeak in a meeting with Haytham hours before he left just to hear what was going on and leave final instructions to him. It hadn’t lasted long before Kamal had shown up and whispered in his ear that it was time to go and people were looking for him.

Then, before Malik even knew it, he was on the road to Jerusalem on his well-mannered horse who was easy enough to control with one hand. Masyaf was behind him and he had six guards. Altair had wanted more and Malik had wanted less. They’d argued about that too. So much arguing they’d done. They’d compromised on six. Enough to be a force but to not appear too paranoid of being a target, or to few to be too cocky. A cart followed behind them with their fine clothing and supplies.

Only once they were down the mountain did Malik feel like he could actually breathe. It felt like the first breath he’d taken in days. Next to him Jari looked at him. “Jari,” he said as they rode.

“Yes, Grand Dai?”

“Am I dreaming?”

“Uh… why would you think that?”

“Because the Sultan is fucking _dead_ and the Order of Assassins is sending a god damn cripple to his funeral.” Jari said nothing. “You can laugh, I was being sarcastic,” he said at large to his guard. Two or three chuckled.

“What’s this mean for the war?” Jari asked him.

“No idea.”

“You think they’ll back off for a while now that they have Jaffa? At least long enough for us to bury the Sultan?” Hudad asked.

“We can only pray,” Jamal nodded. “They might be heretics, but they are not heathens. Right?” he tossed to Malik.

“Richard Lionheart is a reasonable sort. He wouldn’t attack without reason now that he’s been given land and that those Europeans can pilgrimage to Jerusalem in safety,” Malik said. “And some of them… they are like heathens.” A few scoffed, a few more spit to show their distaste. “That’s the hope at least. For now, nothing is certain. We will just have to see what happens and act accordingly.”

They rode in silence for a little while before Hudad spoke again. “Master, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That the new Dai of Jerusalem is a woman?”

Malik felt all of them looking at him. He didn’t flinch. “Yes. She is. And if any of you shame me in front of her by being disrespectful I won’t even wait to send you home to the Grandmaster to gut you. That is the punishment the Grandmaster has decided to those who don’t agree and do so too loudly, or too physically. Am I clear?”

“Y-yes sir,” Lut stammered.

“Good. She is your Dai. You will treat her with the same respect you do the other Dai. I’m sure if I’m not quick enough to correct your behavior towards her her brother will be. Do any of you know Haris bin Abisali?”

“I do, sir,” Altaf- a real irony of a name for an Assassin- said. “He _really_ doesn’t like you bad talking his family.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Malik agreed. “Heed your brother’s warning. All of you.” There were some ‘yes sirs’ around and Malik left it at that.

The few days it took to get to Jerusalem from Masyaf allowed Malik to get his head on straight and think about what was going to happen. The actual funeral would be some days after he arrived at Jerusalem to both complete the embalming process and allow nobles and other people of standing to get themselves in order and to get to Jerusalem for the funeral. There was urgency to it but not a rush. Saladin would not be put to final rest for a time yet.

The fast-paced conversations he’d had with Zaki and Abyan before he’d left came better to his mind each night they camped or made it to an inn on their way to the city. Malik had never concerned himself with the politics of the world outside his walls of influence but that had been a grave mistake. Zaki had packed a book in his luggage that contained all important names and roughly drawn representations of them. Malik hadn’t liked the ‘homework’ assignment Zaki had given him which was to memorize the entire thin volume but by the fire Malik found it a strangely relaxing task.

There were other things too, of course. About how Malik needed to talk and who he should and shouldn’t speak to and if and when he should eat and how many of his guards he should bring to events. Most importantly was how he should hold himself. He’d felt like a novice again when Abyan had been giving him instruction and smacking him with his cane when he slouched or tried to shy away with his left side. Three days wasn’t enough to fully engrain the lessons but a trained man like Malik took to teachings well. The lessons had been brief but Malik stood straighter now. It was stupid for an Assassin to walk around all broad shouldered and upright. You wanted to lean and slouch and hold to the side so people wouldn’t notice you as much. It went against every way he should act in public. Even back at Masyaf Malik stood in Altair’s shadow, doing his best to go unnoticed so everyone just basked in Altair’s radiance.

Malik went to sleep every night with a headache from trying to keep everything straight.

When they arrived at the rise that overlooked Jerusalem all Malik felt was dread. He swallowed before clicking his tongue to his horse to rejoin the flow of traffic down into the city. As they’d gotten closer to the walled city the people going towards it had swelled from a few to dozens and his men had formed a column. Two behind the wagon, two beside Malik, one riding ahead, and one between Malik and the wagon. They were professional about it and covered in weapons they wore in full view of their fellow travelers all amassing towards the city. They were going to the funeral in one way or another. For work, for pleasure, to watch, or to take advantage of things. Of course thieves had been taking advantage of the state of Jerusalem for nearly three years now.

Malik saw several men in white hoods or wearing various shades of red sashes around their waists or across their shoulders in the crowds on the way to Jerusalem. His eyes narrowed in distaste. He’d have to do something about that. Perhaps that would be the first task he gave Zonira. Clean up these fools who thought they could play Assassin right under their noses. It’d be a good test for her to see what she could accomplish and not impossible. With enough examples the point would be made, don’t wear a white hood with a red sash or you will die. None of these men approached the wagon and the guards kept everyone else away.

As they neared the gate his men covered some of their gear in their overlapping robes. Malik motioned for them to all lower their hoods and they did so despite the hesitation they showed. As it was they were barely dressed as Assassins. They wore white yes but they were more finely made than others and their belt sashes were black with similar patterns of Malik’s flowering thorn bush on the back of his Grand Dai robe stitched in gold on it. Their vests were also altered to be of a finer quality and the Master rank symbols on the hems were gold on black silk. The tails of whites had also been taken in to be more ‘in fashion’ so they wouldn’t stand out so much and the white itself was off white, creamy and sturdy but softer and better made than what they would usually wear. With their hoods down they looked like the guards of some wealthy noble and not Assassins.

Which was, of course, the entire point. They couldn’t just parade into Jerusalem as themselves. They’d be tracked immediately and the guards would find Zonira’s house and it’d mysteriously catch fire in days. No one would know the Assassins were here until Malik wanted them to know and his hands started to sweat thinking about this game he now had to play.

The guards at the gate gave them a brief once over and asked their business- Malik just told the truth and said they were here for the funeral- before letting them enter the city.

Of them Malik knew his way the best in Jerusalem. He’d lived here alone and had to either transverse the streets himself to get to markets or shops, and parts he didn’t visit he’d studied maps he’d drawn himself until he’d memorized them so thoroughly he could have navigated them with his eyes closed. He directed everyone where to go and they entered the richer district in the Muslim quarter of the city. The old bureau had been located here and the wisdom was usually don’t have bureaus in the same district each time they were found but it had been determined that it would be best to make Zonira a lady of money and wealth. That way no one would ask why people came and went from her house at all hours or why she might rarely leave. And when you were rich no one asked where your money came from, they just cared that you had it.

The house the Order had bought for Zonira and her family was not huge but it was larger than other bureau’s the Order had ever bought for their Dais, and way more upscale. Zonira was supposed to be the daughter of a wealthy merchant, running affairs here in Jerusalem while her father was in Iran. Recently widowed she’d returned to her family to continue to run the business and unlike her brother had a real sense for money and the business. Her brother just liked to hit things. That was the cover they’d given her and it had been very expensive. Thankfully the contract with the Armenian Bishop had helped cover a good portion of the costs.

Assassins who worked the city were dressed up like common hired guards at the front of the small gated courtyard in front of the house. Malik hoped this wasn’t a permanent issue, it was beneath men who they had work in cities to be used a simple guards. Their city workers were between contract takers and guards of Masyaf in skill or were journeymen trying to earn their whites and using them as grunts like this probably infuriated and humiliated them. They recognized Malik immediately but didn’t say anything to him. They just opened the gate and allowed them to ride through.

With a big house came servants. Zonira’s Daiship included the hiring of three staff members to help run the house. All former slaves, because the Order abhorred slaves and refused to own any, who’d in their last lives had been muted by old owners and were illiterate so they could not speak of what they might see in Zonira’s home. They lived on the property and were paid a pitiful amount but they were free and for most that alone would be enough to buy any loyalty.

One of them came out of the house as they approached and indicated he would take everyone’s horses. Malik dismounted. “Just show them where they can stow the horses,” he told the servant. “They will take care of it,” he looked at his men and they nodded. The servant nodded and grabbed the reins of Malik’s horse and led Malik’s men across the courtyard to the stables.

Malik went to the front door and pushed it open without knocking. There was a maid just inside who jumped when she saw him. “Where’s your lady?” he asked her, “Take me to her.” The maid nodded, put aside the basket she was carrying and beckoned Malik to follow her.

The maid led Malik to an office located in the very center of the house with no windows and a door backed with metal and metal straps across the front that was a bit ajar. She knocked on the door. “Enter,” Zonira called and the maid pushed the door opened the rest of the way to show Zonira’s office. When Zonira saw it was Malik she stood. She was wearing a dark gray thobe in respect for the death of the sultan and her hair was uncovered so it hung in super tight curls at her shoulders. “Grand Dai,” she said in greeting.

“Zonira,” he looked over at the servant who understood the look immediately and left, closing the door exactly the same amount it had been closed before. Malik looked around the office briefly. There were shelves of books and files. A cabinet on the side had some trinkets on it and the markings of her cover as a ‘trader’ like maps and even some baubles from an orient trader. Behind her was a map that depicted the Holy Land and surrounding countries of import like Egypt, Arabian, Iraq, Iran, and Persia with marks and lines on it like trade routes. It was a well made map, the compass rose was perfectly symmetrical and the grid work was so subtle it was practically invisible at a distance so you could appreciate the shapes of the countries and better see the trade routes. “Nice map,” he said approvingly.

“I would hope you thought so,” Zonira said. “You made it.” She turned and looked at it. “I found it when we went to clear out the old bureau. Jawad had it hanging on the wall of his shop. Maybe to keep up whatever useless appearance he was making as a cartographer,” she shrugged. “I thought it looked nice.”

Malik had not expected that. He didn’t let his surprise show either. Malik hadn’t interacted much with Zonira while she’d been training. He thought it was a stupid idea to train a woman as a Dai. He had to assume Zonira knew Malik didn’t approve of her. She had to prove everyone wrong, including Malik. So far she was doing well. “I do good work,” Malik said with a smile and took a seat in front of her desk. She smiled back in absolute relief and sat as well. “How have you done here in the city so far?”

“Well enough,” she nodded. “Making all my neighbors believe I’m really the daughter of a merchant wasn’t that hard,” her face went a bit tight, “I did spend all the money you gave me, though,” she swallowed.

“All of it?” Malik asked. They hadn’t given her an insignificant amount when she’d left and it was supposed to last the month. “On what?”

“It isn’t cheap to be a woman of standing, Malik,” she said, dark eyes filled with fear Malik would be furious with her. She knew what his temper was like. “Or to pretend to be. If I wanted them to believe I was the daughter of a rich merchant I had to act like it. It included trips to private baths, appearances at a few parties which needed new clothes. When I’d settled in I had to throw my own party and invite my new friends and neighbors or I’d be looked at with disdain. I even made a play at meeting with merchants to discuss ‘business deals’. Just our men dressed up to look the part but that also required some additions to their wardrobes. I had to buy three slaves. And not shitty slaves either. Good slaves. They were… expensive.”

Malik took a deep breath so he didn’t yell at her. He wasn’t here to be her enemy. He was here to promote her and make sure the other Dai’s accepted her. To Malik the things she’d spent the money on sounded frivolous. Parties? Clothes? Useless to him. But he also understood. If you made a good impression in the beginning and no one questioned you later because you’d already endeared yourself to them. He relaxed his grip on the arm of the chair. “Alright. Did you overspend?” Zonira didn’t answer, she hesitated. “If you’re afraid I’m angry; I am,” Malik allowed a little anger to leech in. She stiffened and her neck tightened so he could see the tendons in them a bit. “But I’m not your enemy, Dai Zonira. If there are things that need to be fixed or helped I need to be told so I can fix them. Did you overspend?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“A lot? Do you have receipts?”

She reached over to a cabinet and pulled out a thin folder and put it on the desk in front of him. He opened it to check it. “I did my best,” she said. The file had money lender information in it including the amount taken out and the interest accrued. Zonira hadn’t been here more than two weeks or so so the interest was small and she’d either haggled it down or found someone who would loan money out to a woman on low interest.

“Where are your missive slips?” he asked her.

“Huh?”

“Give me one, and a pen and ink,” he said, finally looking up at her.

She handed him the little slip she’d tie to pigeons to send home to Masyaf. Like the one she’d sent a few days ago saying Saladin was dead. She provided a pen and ink and Malik wrote in a neat hand for Munahid to include so many dinars to be dispatched to Jerusalem immediately. “Sir-

“You cannot be in debt when the old men arrive,” Malik said as he finished. “No other Dai is in debt, and you cannot be either. It will be seen as a weakness. This little girl doesn’t know how to manage money and immediately put herself in debt, squandering what the Grandmaster saw in you. They will come and demand to see your books, because that is how they judge one another, by their book keeping. Where is your accounts ledger?” She handed him a red book and he opened it. It had originally been made up by a clerk back at Masyaf with the charts she was to fill in as she got money from clients, percentages to be taken out for upkeep of the bureau and her expenses. For a while most of the information was in black before she switched to red ink.

“This book is garbage now,” he told her.

“What?”

“Find an accountant, have him draw you up a new ledger book as big as this one,” he nodded at the red book he held. “You’re to recopy everything in here with a new total at the top for your first allowance. You may pick the number but make it so that you are in the black.”

“But sir, that’s not what happened-

“Now it is,” Malik said. “They won’t know. You will be keeping both books from now on, the fake book, and the real book,” he motioned with the book. “The fake book is for any of our brothers or Dai, or even the Grandmaster. They will see you have always been perfectly in the black and have never disgraced us with debt. _No matter what_ you are always to keep the fake book in the black and as realistic as possible. The real book will be only for you and I. You will bring it with you to Dai meetings henceforth for my review.”

She swallowed and then said, as cocky and sure as any of his men, despite the slight tremor, “This will be the only time you see red in the real book, sir,” she said.

“I hope so. But you will have to prove that to me. The first thing you’ve done since being made Dai is made me spend more money. I hate spending money,” he growled. “Especially when I know it goes to cover things that don’t further the Order. I don’t trust that you won’t do it again since this debt is no trivial thing, Zonira.” She looked down shamefully. “I have spent three years keeping the Order out of debt and you do so in two weeks.”

“I’m sorry-

“I don’t want apologies. They mean nothing. Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly.

Malik took another deep breath to calm himself. “Put this away,” he put the ledger book back down on the desk. “Have the new book commissioned before the day’s end. You’re to have the fake one filled before the other Dai here.” She nodded, not looking at him, she was looking at her desk. She put away the red ledger book. “Now. Please tell me something good that has happened. How have our men in the city taken to you?”

“They did not like it, sir,” she said, still looking at the table.

“Look at me when you talk to me, Zonira. You are a Dai, and I am your superior, you will look at me.”

Her black eyes traveled up to him and they were so weak. She looked about to break right then. Like she just wanted to break down and cry from what Malik had said to her. He felt sort of bad about it but he also couldn’t care. Altair favored her, she knew that. She knew Altair liked her a great deal and would tolerate her weakness even if he wanted her to be strong. Malik had no patience for it and had no patience for her either. In the coming weeks as the Dai meeting was held she’d live or die by how strong she was. She’d either come out of the meeting tolerated, or those old men would eat her alive. So he had no time for her weakness.

“They do not like that I’m Dai, sir,” she said.

“And what have you done about it? Anything?”

“It was my brother’s idea,” she admitted.

“No shame in asking your brother how to handle men like himself.”

“The guards out front? They were very vocal about how they felt of a lady Dai. After Haris beat them up he stationed them as guards for our house.”

Malik gave a single cough of a laugh. “Brilliant,” he said, meaning it. “I had wondered if you knew making those men play at guards was humiliating to them.”

“That was the idea,” Zonira said. “I have five guards now in the total. They take turns. When I feel like it, they accompany me to the market with my sister-in-law and carry what we buy.”

Malik fought a smile and lost. “I’m glad that even if you have trouble standing up to me you do just fine against your men.”

“To be fair, sir, you’re much harder to impress, and more important to impress than them.”

“Heh. I guess so,” Malik agreed. “And those who aren’t your guards?”

“They’ve fallen in line for the most part. They talk back but I expect nothing less. When they do so too much I speak to them like I do my son. It humiliates them enough to shut down. Haris is often with me when I give out assignments and he doesn’t allow them to back talk to me. My usual city men and spies know at this point my brother isn’t afraid to punch them if they get out of line and they know they’re in the wrong so they don’t fight back.”

“You don’t allow it to go too far, I hope.”

“No no, of course not, sir,” she assured him. “Just enough to make them see the wisdom in listening to me.”

“Good.” Malik sat back in the chair. “Any other information to report?”

“Since the Sultan has died there have been more appearances of men in white. Crime is through the roof. My spies bring me information daily about people asking guards to look into thefts or other crimes and when they find out men in white are involved will do nothing about it. Since I’ve been here I’ve gotten four reports like that a day.”

“And what are the crimes?”

“Theft mostly. But there have been some rapes, stabbings, and at least a few instances of public indecency.”

“Was Jawad doing anything about it?”

“According to some of his notes he was having his men quietly take care of some of the more visible ones. Jawad wasn’t worried about Jerusalem, his notes were pitiful and what was available was not encouraging. He was planning something else. Don’t know what, but his plans didn’t include Jerusalem.”

“No, they didn’t,” Malik agreed. “What they were don’t matter any longer. What do _you_ intend to do with these pretenders?”

Zonira looked lost and hopeless. “I can’t be everywhere at once. And with more people coming into the city every day for the funeral-

“I don’t want to hear your excuse for why it’s difficult, Zonira,” Malik said cooly. “I want to hear what you plan to do about it.”

Zonira bit her lip. “I… I don’t know,” she said. She was scared again. Scared of not knowing, of failing Malik.

“I’m glad you can admit you don’t know,” he said and she relaxed a little. “You are not of an Assassin’s mind and this position is new to you. You do not know a lot, and that’s okay.”

“What should I do?”

“There is one thing Assassins enjoy above all things, Zonira,” he said. “It is being put to work. We are trained our lives for this blood work. Many of us enjoy it. Are there men in the city who like you?”

“A few,” she said. “They think it’s funny I’m a Dai. One laughed when he first met me and I told him I was Dai. He then said he wondered when the Grandmasters would get wise to the fact women made better leaders than men. Others there is some respect. At the very least they respect not wanting to be made into my guards with their bad attitudes.”

“The ones who like you,” Malik said. “Reward them.”

“How?”

“Tell them to go make examples of our copy cats.” Malik and Altair had discussed this at length after Zonira had gone. What to do about Jerusalem. Altair hated it was a crime riddled city and criminals were using fear of him to get away with whatever they wanted. Usually Malik didn’t agree with Altair’s more gruesome ideas but this time he did. “First have them find the most prolific ones and you decide who will be the targets. Then tell them that they can make an example of them so that everyone knows that these thieves and thugs in white are not untouchable. Enough examples and they will be too afraid to wear their fake white hoods and red sashes.”

“That is… bloody,” she said.

“We’re Assassins, Zonira. Our lives are bloody.”

“I’ll have them start looking into these fakes then. Find out where they crawled out from.”

“Good,” Malik nodded. “This won’t go away overnight. Thieves and such all think that they are different from the others. That they will be the exception to the rule. Meaning it will take many examples. And when the fakes have dwindled to nothing there will still be some that try it out anyway because the guards will still be too scared. When those fakes pop up months from now destroy them too. The guards will stay afraid of the white hoods, but now the things they can deal with won’t be wearing them so they can follow up on those thefts, break ins, muggings, rapes, and petty murders. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“And don’t use your brother,” Malik added. “We sent him with you for a reason. He’s to remain with you.”

“I wouldn’t have anyway,” she lied to him.

“Of course,” Malik said to not indicate he knew she was lying.

There was a knock on the door. “Who calls?” Zonira asked.

“Grand Dai, Dai,” Jari opened the door a little so he could look inside, “excuse my interruption.”

“It’s fine,” Malik said. “We were just finishing up. What is it?”

“Your room is ready,” Jari said, eyes going from Zonira to Malik and back again.

“Ah, wonderful,” Malik said. His men had found it funny when Malik had said earlier that he’d just wanted to nap in a real bed as soon as possible once they were at the bureau. Only Jari had taken it to heart. “I’ll be along shortly,” Malik said and waved Jari away. Jari retreated but Malik knew he was standing just out of earshot in the hallway. He turned back to Zonira. “Have a bird sent with my message immediately,” he told her and she nodded. “And go about what we discussed. We’ll talk more over dinner.”

“Of course,” she said.

Malik got up with a slight groan. He was so ready for that bed. Maybe a quick wash before. “Safety and peace, Zonira,” he said and he watched all her fear and insecurities slide right off her shoulders. She’d known it was a phrase used only between equals but she was sure Haris had told her the nuances of it by now.

“Safety and peace, Grand Dai,” she said. Malik waved a little and walked out of the office.

As predicted Jari was standing, leaning against the wall, waiting for him. “It go well?”

“Yes,” Malik said as Jari peeled himself off the wall to show Malik where he was to stay. “Don’t tell Altair I said this but he and Zaki picked a good woman for the job.” Jari snorted. “If nothing else I know Faruq will like her.”

“He likes everyone, Malik.”

“Yes, I know. But that’s better than none. You think Diyari will like her?”

“Diyari doesn’t think much of women,” Jari said. “Uh… that didn’t come out the way I meant it,” Jari’s face had turned an interesting shade of red at this point.

“Of course not,” Malik said nicely.

“I meant- that just- I don’t know how he’ll like her,” he stammered out.

“Ah well, if he doesn’t I can expect you to change his mind then?”

Jari wilted under Malik’s question as they came to the door. “I don’t promise anything,” he said. “When Diyari gets it into his head about something it’s difficult to change his mind.”

“Like how he keeps asking you to ask to be reassigned to Aleppo?” Malik asked and Jari nodded hesitantly. “Well, we all have to work on things. If Diyari is one of those who’s difficult about accepting Zonira into our fold then you’ll just have to work on that, hmm?”

“I’ll try,” Jari said.

“All I can ask of you. Now, before I go in there, is there a house bath?”

“Yes. It’s in the back. Just uh- go down the hall it’s the last door on the left.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Jari.”

“Of course, sir,” Jari nodded. Malik went into the room to prepare for a bath and then a well-deserved nap in that very comfortable looking bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story consider leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Fyi, this entire arc isn’t very historically accurate as far as who dies where and when and wtf happens. But the story is better for it so jusssssst go with it.


	39. Doeskin Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I said I was sitting on Kabir for a few months? I’ve been sitting on most of this chapter for over a year, and only finished it recently. I’m SO excited you guys finally get to read it :D
> 
> that being said it does make me cry

With Malik gone that meant Altair was alone a lot. He was used to it but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss Malik. Despite that the first few days he realized the joys of Malik not being around. Like he could sleep with the door open and the cats could come and sleep with him as they pleased. That left him to wake up surrounded by them and he’d often stay in bed simply not to disturb the cats sleeping on or around him. At least until Kamal came in, knocking politely on his bedroom door announcing breakfast was ready and reminding he needed to get up to go do work. That was Malik’s doing no doubt.

So he’d drag himself out of bed, get dressed and eat breakfast with his cats, feed Sawsan, and go downstairs. He’d have preferred to stay up in his room but he knew he couldn’t. If nothing else his men needed to see him about, working. Those who disliked him also needed to see him working so they wouldn’t think he was useless without Malik around.

Not that they were particularly wrong. Altair was only at the desk in the morning and took his lunch in his room and didn’t do what Malik did where he met with complainers fixed things really. He didn’t have the patience for it. Malik had given that duty to Munahid before he’d left so that all complaints went to him. Munahid had done it one day before demanding all complaints be submitted in writing which just pushed the work off to the clerks under him to write for the illiterate or just stopped some complaints as Assassins were too lazy to do so.

When he did work Altair did so quickly and with less hesitation than Malik. Unless the request was ridiculous Altair refused it outright. He knew Malik agonized over each large contract and usually talked himself out of it because politically it was a bad idea. Altair thought Malik’s head for politics was terrible. He was too careful to not offend anyone. But then Altair also did more field work than him before all this. He’d gone to other countries, visited every city in the Holy Land, seen all manner of dignitaries and nobility and even just the very rich. They spoke of the Assassins with fear and respect but also with an understanding like one does any other soldier. Their blades, while sometimes commanded by ideology, were more often commanded by money. Money spent by their fellow nobles and royalty to delete a problem they had. They feared the Assassins for their abilities and respected them that they just did their jobs and that the death in the family was not usually for Assassin gain.

Unlike Malik, Altair did not throw out the contracts they wouldn’t take because they were petty and not worth the manpower for a number of dinars they would receive and Kamal write up different messages than Malik would have to send back to contracts he found deplorable. One he sent to a wealthy merchant who wanted to wed the very young daughter of a competitor political reasons but the father would never allow it while he lived and the merchant wanted the father dead. The message Altair sent back was that if he tried to use the Assassins to further his filth again Altair would have _him_ killed and if he did not offer a specific sum in apology his trade caravans to and from Damascus would find themselves harried by bandits. Another he had Kamal write was a father who wanted his daughter’s dishonorable lover murdered for having a child out of wedlock. That one said that the price for such a task would be to send any child his daughter had to the Assassins or that he should accept his daughter’s choice in men. Assassins would be sent to make sure the daughter, child or lover were not harmed by the upset father and failure to do so would cost him his dominant hand. There were at least a dozen messages like these sent out a day.

Altair didn’t tolerate people trying to use the Assassins as a bully. It also, oddly, cooled his blood lust and distracted his mind from thoughts of what would happen if he went over to one of his guards and stabbed them. Kamal said Malik usually just threw out these contract requests before Altair even saw them and that made him angry. As Mentor he was powerful and it was his duty to not just keep his men busy but also protect those who couldn’t. That was _why_ the Assassins had been formed so very long ago, to help those who could not help themselves, not simply those who could afford it.

When Altair wasn’t down at the desk he was with Jihad or alone in his room. He was more gentle with Jihad and the boy was happy again. It made Altair happy that Jihad was happy. When he was in his room Altair would go through the bookshelves in it. The books in them had never been touched when he’d moved in. They’d been left just as Azrael had left them. He’d found Azrael’s journal in these bookshelves and he’d never really had a chance to take his time and dismantle them and pick through them to find if there were more.

When he’d first moved into these apartments he’d found the 1151 journal by the bed, like he’d been reading it recently. The journal itself opened easiest on the page with the woman’s name on it like Azrael would leave it open page down creating a natural break in the spine. He’d read the journal with painstaking slowness the first time, hoping to find something in it. What he had no idea. Something. Anything to make the pain in his chest even a bit lighter than it was. It had taken him days to read the entire thing because of how slow he read and how he went back, again and again, to read parts over so he didn’t miss anything. He swore he’d seen similar journals in the spare room at one point but later when he’d been able to look, when he could function enough to carry the burden of looking at the dead man’s things, they’d been gone.

After that Malik had been around most of the time and he hadn’t wanted to half take apart the books to be caught and questioned and told he was foolish and only hurting himself doing this. Altair knew that already. He knew that looking for Azrael’s journals would only bring him pain but he also hoped they’d bring him some closure as well. That he could peek into the mind of the man who’d trained him and maybe know him in a way he hadn’t before.

So the days after Malik left Altair took his time and took all the books in all the bookshelves in all the rooms off the shelves to look through them. Took him four days and he came to the conclusion that the journals weren’t there. He checked Malik’s rooms next, just in case. Malik’s room had almost nothing in it but there was a small shelf with books on it. He took those down and looked through them too. They were also empty.

Altair resorted to just looking everywhere after that. Under the bed, inside drawers and boxes. Anywhere someone could hide a book. Altair ended up turning his entire apartment inside out wanting to find them but turned up nothing. At the end of his fit of madness to find them he sat in his room surrounded by a mess he’d made from overturning things and ransacking everything he could. He’d wanted to leave it like that because he was angry but he knew if Malik came home to the place a mess like this he’d be furious. Mainly to save himself the lecture Altair put everything back where it had been for the most part.

He was reading the single journal he had later after Kamal had come to get his food when he had a sort of epiphany. He skimmed the journal, picking out certain parts to study and a truth came to him slowly. At first, he rejected it because Azrael had fathered a child but it wasn’t impossible was it? Azrael and Zaki had been very close. Altair knew that. They’d been friends just like most of Azrael’s Dais had been but the more he read the more he realized that it wasn’t just that. It was closer than that. It was a sort of secret time spent together like he and Malik had. Meaning Zaki was closer to Azrael than anyone else, and he knew Azrael kept these journals. Ergo Zaki probably knew where Azrael had hidden the rest of his journals.

Altair wanted to get up and leave at that thought immediately but it was late and Zaki was probably asleep. Instead, he paced in his room mulling over the entire thing and what he wanted to say to Zaki about it. The journal gave him other ideas as well but he dared not even think them so afraid they made him. He wound up asleep amid the rug and pillows under the window sill that night when he grew too tired to think or move. He’d confront Zaki about it tomorrow.

—

Kamal woke him with breakfast as usual. “Did you sleep out here, Master?” he asked when he saw Altair.

Altair yawned. “Yes? Goodness. What an uncomfortable floor. I must be getting old.” He groaned and got to his feet to stretch.

“You seem young enough to me,” Kamal said helpfully and laid out the food for the cats.

“Thank you, Kamal,” he said and sat back down to have his breakfast.

“Should I come get you for work as well or will you make it down there on your own?” Kamal asked him.

Altair grimaced. Right. Confronting Zaki would have to wait until after he’d dealt with the contracts. “I will find the way myself.”

“Very well,” Kamal said. Altair had no illusions that if he didn’t at least do this Malik would know of it because as much as Kamal loved Altair he was loyal to Malik in some things. He knew how important their desk work was too and wouldn’t let Altair miss a day so Altair didn’t resent the little snitch too much.

Altair ate his breakfast, pet the cats some and checked in on Sawsan. “So big you’ve gotten my little lily,” he cooed to her and pet her stomach. She was very fat down and didn’t like getting out of her birthing box unless Altair carried her. She purred when he pet her and when he kissed her on the head she licked his nose which made him smile. “I’m going to learn a secret today, Sawsan. Hopefully, it goes well, hmm?” Sawsan just meowed at him. With that, he got up and went to change his clothes.

Altair did his work diligently, making sure actual contracts were given hunters and contracts he found insulting were reprimanded. Eventually, he finished and then was reminded today he had to spend time with Jihad. For the first time he didn’t want to train with Jihad. He just wanted to find Zaki but Jihad needed him. Without Altair Jihad was helpless and would never become less helpless. So he spent some time with Jihad after lunch and finally he could track the old man down.

It wasn’t very hard at least and Altair found the old man up in the coops. Zaki was tending the birds, stroking one along the chest and cooing softly to it. It was missing several flight feathers and looked harrowed like it'd fought off a hawk. Altair came up behind Zaki, outside of the great walk-in cage, but said nothing and Zaki didn't know he was there. He just stood there, watching, to see what he'd do.

“Is there something you needed, Mentor?” Zaki asked, startling Altair. He was sure Zaki hadn't heard him approach. Zaki didn't turn and look at Altair either.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I am used to dangerous men sneaking up on me. It was a game friends and I used to play,” he ended rather sadly. “They're all gone now,” he added softly.

“Where are the rest of Azrael’s journals?” Altair asked. He wasn't good at being subtle with words all the time. Struggling with them sometimes made him seem subtle or deflective with them but he didn't do it intentionally. He was always very direct unless he knew what he said would get him in trouble.

“Azrael’s journals? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean,” Zaki said and if he was surprised he didn't show it.

“Yes, you do. There were journals before the Dais arrived and I had not gotten to read them. Then you arrived and days later they were _gone_. Where are they?”

Zaki turned around and Altair saw no lie in him. “Which one did I miss?” It was as good as any confession that Zaki had taken them.

“Eleven fifty-one,” Altair said.

Zaki’s face was resigned. “Quite a one I missed. Where was it?”

“His bedroom.”

“Sentimental old fool,” Zaki sighed.

“Where are the rest?”

“Hidden,” Zaki said and put the bird down gently and left the great cage to stand face to face with Altair. “From everyone. His reputation is tarnished enough. I didn't want his name dragged further through the mud.”

“He was mad. He betrayed us-

“He loved the Order, Altair,” Zaki said. “But his priorities were different than your own.”

“Eve?” Altair asked.

“Yes,” Zaki sighed.

There was a long silence. Neither of them moved. “You won't give me his journals?”

“I will not.”

 

“Why not? Because I don’t deserve to see them?”

“Because I don’t think Azrael would have wanted you to see them.”

“To hell with him. He’s dead.”

“Then what does it matter if you read them or not?”

“I need them. I need to see them.”

“Why?”

Altair couldn’t speak for a moment. “I killed him. I… I just want to know if he was as mad as I thought.” It was slightly desperate. Altair just wanted to know he’d done the right thing and hadn’t done instead what he dreaded. Hadn’t done what the single journal hinted at and made it hard to sleep at night when he thought about it.

“I won’t give them to you,” Zaki said. “Doing so betrays him.”

“He’s dead Zaki, he can’t command you anymore.”

“No. But he was still my dear friend. He was your Mentor. I can’t.”

“Then answer me this-

“If I can-

“You _will_!” Altair snapped, furious at being denied. Furious that in front of old men he was still powerless and they thought so little of him, that he could be cowed or controlled. He hated it. “You will answer me or I will punish you.” Zaki sighed like he'd seen Altair's temper tantrum before like he was used to or expected it out of men like him and it hurt him even more than being dismissed. “Eve, his daughter. He went back for her?”

“Yes,” Zaki said.

“He brought her back to Masyaf?”

“Yes.”

Altair's swallowed “Did she marry?”

“Against Azrael’s wishes, yes.”

“Who? An Assassin?”

“Do you enjoy the pain you are causing yourself, child?” Zaki asked, cocking his head at Altair.

“I am saving myself from the pain if I am wrong,” Altair said, his chest clenching up in preparation for whatever was about to happen, as though trying to protect his heart. He somehow knew it’d do him little good. He was so worried about this and learning the truth one way or another.

“You put a knife to your heart, child.”

“I have no heart. The Order carved it out and fed it to the eagles. Now tell me what I want to know and that I _know_ you know because you were so close to him.” Despite his, bravado Altair swallowed and felt nervous.

Zaki sighed and looked down. “Very well. Azrael told me I was to keep this a secret, to protect you, but if you are so callous with yourself I will tell you.”

“Secrets protect no one. They just cause more pain.”

“As this one will cause you, child.” He didn’t speak for a moment. “Eve married an Assassin named Umar and they had one child. A son they named Altair. You were Azrael’s grandson.”

Altair had been expecting and dreading that answer and yet he somehow wasn't ready for it. It was like an arrow to the heart and he suddenly couldn't breathe easily. He didn't cry but it was like his chest had been flayed open to expose what was left of his heart and someone had taken a scalpel to it.

“Why- why did he never tell me himself?” Altair asked softly, the heartbreak real.

“Because Azrael knew love was a noose. When he and I were young men the Order was much different. Emotional attachment was frowned upon-

“Liar,” Altair said before he could stop himself.

Zaki ignored him. “No one was allowed to marry. Sometimes the concubines conceived and the order grew like that, generations of Assassins born from the legs of whores. We don't do that anymore. Azrael stopped that. Who knew if men bedded their sisters, their aunts or cousins or even mothers. But love was forbidden. It makes one weak. Makes what you love more important than the Order, than your brothers. Our Order did not tolerate that when we were young. Anyone we were close to was open as a direct line to our hearts, our morale. So it was forbidden and those caught were punished, severely, for going against the rules.

“The Order you grew up in is one Azrael made, with his daughter in mind. One where he would have to feel no shame for loving her. One where men could have what all men wanted, family, children. You young men do not understand the difference. How different the Order used to be before Azrael came and swept away the rot in the heart of us. You don’t understand how much we _loved him_ for giving this to us. Under him we didn’t steal and kidnap boys from their homes to become Assassins, we did not demand ransom from the Threshing of girls to be concubines. The Order was _better_ when he became Mentor, and he healed many atrocities.”

Altair was still struggling to take it all in. Zaki wasn’t wrong. All the Assassins active today had grown up under Azrael’s rule. They knew no different. They all had fathers, mothers. The towns did not fear them and they did not Thresh girls to become concubines.

“He did all this, because of Eve?” Altair asked softly.

“Yes,” Zaki said. “And your grandmother, Murjana. If the rules for us had not been in place he would have never left her in Aleppo. She wouldn’t have died such a gruesome death. May Allah have mercy on her soul,” Zaki bowed his head some.

“But why did he never tell me?” Altair asked. He had as many memories of Azrael smacking him as he did the old man teaching him. He could go from gentle and kind to a terrible tyrant in moments, his instructive voice become a vicious lash. He licked his lips self-consciously. Azrael had given him this scar and killed his Aaban.

“Because favoritism would have done you no good. Azrael made the Order so men would never have to go through what he had, but he was distant with Eve. No one knew she was his daughter. No one knew you were his grandson.”

“Except you.”

“Except me,” Zaki admitted. “He always kept those important to him at arms reach, so they could not bring him pain. He had a surprisingly kind heart for what he was.”

“Even you?”

“All his friends,” Zaki said. “He sent us all away. Become Dai, he said, be my eyes and ears and hands across our great land. It was an honor.”

Altair eyed him. “You’re a good liar, Zaki,” he said, “but it was not an honor for you.”

Zaki only blinked but didn’t let anything show. “It was.”

“I imagine you didn’t feel so at the time.”

Zaki’s smile was patronizing. “My best friend was sending me to an armpit of a city to babysit foolish men with more skill in swordplay than sense. No, I was far from pleased.”

“Best friend?”

“Of course,” Zaki said. “Just as Malik is yours,” and he gave Altair a look. He knew. That made Altair sort of annoyed.

“Does everyone just _know_ and we’re fooling ourselves here?” Altair demanded. Zaki wasn’t even around him and Malik that much.

Zaki chuckled. “No. But it is obvious when you know what you’re looking at.”

“Only you knew about Eve?”

“Yes.”

“So none of the other Dais knew I was his grandson. Is that why you supported my rise to Mentorship?”

Zaki said nothing a moment. Altair waited. “You are much like him.”

“I am nothing-

“When he was young,” Zaki continued, “he was much like you. Idealistic, rash, hopeful for a better future. Living takes such things from men and turns even the most idealistic cynical. I knew you would be good for the Order, as he had been. Some of the others resented him for seeming to throw us away.”

“Like Jawad?”

“Jawad always thought much too highly of himself and they did not always get along. Azrael was a rebel, and Jawad followed orders and rules to the letter. If he saw Azrael in you it was a bad thing. I’m sure you know when you came to take up the Mentorship our accounts were in disarray. Things were not marked or written down, there was nowhere Azrael left his plans. He let our accountants worry about running the Order and when we ran low on gold for food or clothes or anything he’d fill the coffers back up with blood money. Saar and Navid were left to run the guards and up till a few years ago Sabin took care of the novices and sent men out during the Threshing, Rauf did it when Sabin stepped down.”

“This is why the Order fell apart,” Altair said. “He did not care for it.”

“And yet his tenure was the greatest reign of the Assassins since the Mentorship came to Syria,” Zaki said. “It's only remained here through dumb luck that someone hasn’t come and taken it from us. But we were failing. The Order grew, and prospered under Azrael.”

“Then where did it go wrong?” Altair asked.

“I don’t know,” Zaki said. “I was in Acre and saw him once a year. Somewhere along the way he got lost, and never found his way again.”

“Nothing in his journals?”

“He stopped writing them when your mother died,” he said and Altair swallowed. “Perhaps that was where it began to go wrong.”

Altair hesitated. He’d been young when his mother had died. Only five or so. His father had been inconsolable for months after her death and Altair had lived life like it was a dream. Or a nightmare. After Umar had finished grieving he wouldn’t speak of it, wouldn’t talk about her, wouldn’t even say her name. Altair could barely remember the woman, and even her name had faded from his memory. The only memories he had of her were her hands, the smell of her hair, and the feeling of her headscarf in his hands. But they were faded and muted by time. Then his father had been killed only a few years later. If Azrael had started to go wrong when Eve had died then Altair had started to go when Umar had.

“How did she die?” Altair asked softly. No one had ever told him. One day his father had just told him his mother was dead.

“I heard it was a horse. She’d gone riding and something had spooked her horse. It threw her off and ended up stomping on her by accident.”

“Did you know her?”

“Somewhat. I was in Acre most of the time she was here, but Azrael wrote me, so did she. Everything all right, Altair?” Zaki asked.

Altair felt like his entire world was falling apart. Everything he’d known was a lie. He hadn’t just killed his father figure that day years ago, he’d killed his grandfather. His own flesh and blood. The man had been mad but Altair could remember how he’d felt when he’d finally taken the old man’s life. There had been no thrill, no satisfaction like he did when he usually killed. Only sadness, only grief. Justice had been brought and it had brought him no joy. He was, truly, Son of None.

Malik wasn’t here.

That thought alone nearly gave him vertigo. His entire life had just been changed and flipped upside down and Malik wasn’t here. Never more in his life did he want Malik than at that moment. Not even to talk to, not even to confess to. Just to have him near, to be a piece of stability for him. But he was far away, in Jerusalem for Saladin’s funeral.

“Son,” Zaki grabbed his arm and Altair started, staring at him. “Are you alright?” he asked seriously.

“I don’t know,” Altair said, his eyes dilated and he had trouble focusing. His heart was racing and it was hard to breathe. Distantly his brain supplied that his symptoms sounded much like a panic attack.

“Shall I get someone? Do you want to sit down?” Altair nodded mutely but couldn’t even get the words out. Zaki helped him sit and left him there, going down the stairs to the landing below.

Altair pulled his legs up to his chest.

Why hadn’t Azrael ever told him? Why wouldn’t Umar ever talk about his mother? Why would Azrael let Umar die when Altair had already lost his mother and Azrael his daughter? Hadn’t they both lost enough then? And Umar’s death had caused Abbas’ father so much guilt he’d killed himself. Killed himself with Allah and Altair as his witness and then Altair had been alone. No friend, no family. No one. Only Azrael who was mentoring and strict at best and distant and cruel at worst. And the entire time Altair was growing up, being trained by the instructors, getting extra instruction and expectations from the Mentor, he knew Altair was his grandson.

His grandfather had turned him into a monster.

Altair knew there was something not right with him. No man should love to kill like he did. No man should love to fight like he did. But he took pleasure in both. He took pleasure in other things, but the death, the fighting, the killing. Allah, he loved doing it. It was the only time he ever felt like his body was _right_. He wasn’t like any other man he’d ever met. He had no desire for women or the comforts they brought. He enjoyed things but they never felt like they fulfilled something in him the way a blade in his hand felt. They never made him feel _alive._ He struggled with seemingly simple things but could see larger pictures where others could not.

His grandfather had groomed him this way. Had groomed the worst things in Altair to be whatever he needed him to be. Some quiet part of him said maybe Azrael had done so so that nothing would happen to Altair. That he trained Altair into this monster, to the very breaking point, so that Altair would not die. So that the old man wouldn’t lose the last of his family either. He hardly believed it. He wanted to but something else told him it was unlikely. Azrael wanted a loyal killer who was as skilled as he had been. What better than the seed of his own family?

He was surprised when someone came. He looked up into Kamal’s eyes and Zaki stood behind him, face a mask of worry. “Altair, is everything all right?” Kamal asked, kneeling next to him. Altair couldn’t talk. He just stared at Kamal feeling lost and very afraid. “Shit,” Kamal muttered. Malik wasn’t here. “Just-just a second,” and then Kamal was gone and he heard him running away.

Zaki came over to him and stood against the other wall since his bone were too old to kneel or squat. “He loved you, you know,” he said. Altair looked up at him, his eyes cast in shadows. “Azrael I mean. You probably won’t believe that but I know he did and he was not a man who loved easily, Altair.”

A hateful sound worked its way out of Altair’s voice, “If he loved me he wouldn’t have let my father die. If he loved me he wouldn’t have hurt everyone and thing I cared for. If he _loved me_ he would have _told_ me.”

Zaki had no come back for that, he just looked sad. “He didn’t know how to tell anyone,” he said softly.

“You mean he didn’t tell you.”

Zaki’s smile was painful, “Especially not me.”

Kamal came running back up the stairs gasping. Altair started when something was dropped on him. It was fat and furry and warm and looked up at him with golden eyes. Altair softened and finally felt like he could breathe. It was Sawsan. She meowed at him and sniffed at him. The rest of the world disappeared around him. All there was was Sawsan and she was a warm piece of stability amid this. He meowed back and she rubbed her face against his cheek and purred loudly. He held her close to him, burying his face in her fur and inhaling the comforting smell that reminded him of time spent lying in the sun under the window with Malik nearby. Altair would hold onto the edge of Malik’s robe and Malik would read. Sometimes he’d put his book down to run his fingers through Altair’s short hair or the back of his knuckles against his shaved face. Sawsan would be curled up in the curve of his neck, sleeping. She smelled like cool sunshine and where Altair felt at peace and safe.

His heart ached and he missed Malik so much his heart felt like it would shrivel up from the lack of him. Altair couldn’t go to him, he had to stay here. Run the Order and act like a real Mentor.

Altair stayed like that, face pressed against Sawsan, for a while. He didn’t care if he appeared stupid or childish. He’d just found out the truth about his family and he was honestly doing what he could to not cry in front of them.

“Let's leave him be, Kamal,” Zaki said.

“You’re sure?” Kamal asked.

“Yes. I think he just needs time,” and Altair heard Zaki gently shepherding Kamal away.

“Kamal,” Altair croaked before they could leave.

“Yes, Altair?” Kamal asked, voice stained with worry.

“Go down to the doves, send the guard named Kabir to my quarters. I will be along.”

“O-of course!” Kamal said and then raced down the stairs.

“Altair,” Zaki said, Altair didn’t look at him. “Since you know, there isn’t any point keeping secrets anymore. If you ever want to know more, I’m here.”

“Get out of my sight,” Altair bit out from between his teeth.

“Very well. Safety and peace, Al Mualim,” and Altair almost threw a knife at him as he walked away.

Instead, he just held Sawsan tightly until she squeaked in protest and pawed at him. “Sorry,” he whispered and stroked her head. “Sorry,” he swallowed and pulled his face away to stare at the ceiling. He was alone now and his loneliness felt overwhelming. He looked towards the stairs and knew he should get up. He didn’t have to be alone. There were people who cared about him. But Malik wasn’t here. He looked at Sawsan. “How angry would he be if I went to Jerusalem?” he asked her softly. Her whiskers twitched. “Yeah, probably.”

Altair practically crawled up the wall to stand, holding Sawsan against him. She had her paws on one shoulder as he walked. He swayed a little from sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long but it passed. He walked down to his quarters and saw Ehan standing in front of the door, arms folded seriously.

“Master,” he said when he saw Altair.

“Hello, Ehan,” Altair said, his voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere else and not his body.

“Kamal told me to bar anyone from coming into your room. He already brought you dinner.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

“And you have a guest,” Ehan said.

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Ehan.”

Ehan looked at him. He had his head down so Ehan couldn’t see his face. “Is everything alright, Master?”

“Yes. Now please, I’d like to go eat dinner,” Altair said softly.

“Of course,” Ehan opened the door for him. “I won’t listen.”

Altair stopped as he stepped through. “You’re a good man, Ehan,” he said. “I am blessed to have you.”

“Of course, Master,” Ehan closed the door once Altair was inside.

Kabir was sitting on the rug under the window dinner on a large tray in front of him. “Hello, Altair,” he smiled at him.

Altair went over to the window, stopping only briefly to gently lower Sawsan into her birthing box. He went over to Kabir and knelt down in front of him. Kabir frowned when Altair said nothing. Then Altair just leaned over his knees and sobbed. Kabir did nothing for a moment, too surprised by what was suddenly in front of him to even move. Then he reached over and pushed Altair hood back. With one hand he held the back of Altair’s neck and the other he rubbed Altair’s back.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. To deserve this life. Everything had been taken from him. His mother, his father, his childhood, any chance of friends, his virtue and now he learned he’d murdered his own grandfather. The sobs came thick and rough and Kabir said nothing. He was just a warm hand on his neck. A stabilizing force that made Altair feel a bit less alone and was about as much touch as he could stomach from most people.

His grandfather had turned him into this horrible man who didn’t know how to deal with the world without someone to guide him. Zaki said Azrael had loved him but Altair wasn’t sure. Sometimes Azrael was so nice and kind and Altair thought they were more than student and teacher. Other times he scared the hell out of Altair and hit him hard enough to see stars. There were times between that but those were the extremes. If that was what love was then no wonder he was so broken. No wonder he and Malik were so broken.

Altair cried harder thinking that.

Sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention he’d look at Malik and that disgusting mask from Jerusalem would come across him and he’d be reminded why he never _ever_ let anyone touch him like that. Not then, not now, not ever. How broken was he that he’d forgive Malik that transgression? How broken was he that he’d love Malik again?

And yet he did love Malik. For some sick reason he forgave Malik the same way he always forgave Azrael for the harsh punishments. For some reason he loved Malik and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to tell him that. Because Malik made him good, because Malik made him right. Like how Azrael made him good, and made him feel good. But Azrael didn’t love Altair. Malik did. Right?

Right?

“What is this all about?” Kabir asked him gently, still rubbing his back after he’d let Altair cry for a long while.

“I killed him,” Altair’s breathes hitched and his voice cracked and broke under the weight of it all.

“Who? Who did you kill, Altair?”

“My grandfather,” he whispered.

“Azrael?” Altair nodded mutely at that. Kabir said nothing a moment, “I see,” he said. He said nothing more and just let Altair cry.

Kabir was the only person Altair cried in front of. He never cried in front of Azrael. Never cried in front of Malik. Even when Azrael had murdered his cat in front of him and cut up his face Altair hadn’t cried. Kabir was the only one he knew who wouldn’t judge him for the weakness. He’d cried in front of Kabir when he’d told him Azrael had ‘killed’ him, and after what Malik had done to him. He’d cried when he’d confessed to Kabir that he shamefully didn’t like women, or men like Kabir did when he’d been a teenager, and felt broken and wrong and shameful for the lack of feelings.

Altair cried himself into silence and he just knelt over his knees breathing hard and trembling. “Come now, Altair,” Kabir said nicely. “Your scribe brought us such a lovely dinner, it would be a shame to let it grow cold and go to waste.”

Altair looked up at him, tears tracked down his cheeks. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“Nonsense. You’ll feel better when you eat. Now sit up. There we go,” he smiled when Altair complied. Altair felt light headed from all the crying and very stupid. “Come here,” he beckoned slightly and Altair leaned over to him. Kabir wiped his face off with a rag. “All better,” Kabir’s smile was bright. “Now lets eat, how about that?”

“I guess-

“You will eat dinner, Altair,” Kabir said in a firm tone.

“Okay,” he said, defeated. He did appreciate the firm tone. He couldn’t decide for himself. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to be told what to do like he had been his entire life. Life had always been easier like that. He didn’t have to think. He just had to do.

Kabir served them both and put a plate in Altair’s lap after Altair got into a more comfortable sitting position and had taken off his boots. “Eat,” Kabir told him. Altair did so mechanically. “Now. What happened?”

Altair took several more bites as he composed his thoughts which was more difficult than usual. “Zaki told me Azrael was my grandfather. He told me… many painful things to hear.”

“Like what?” Altair told him, He told him about Azrael’s journal and his suspicions before he confronted Zaki. He was able to remember Zaki’s exact words and repeating them for Kabir to hear. “Fool,” Kabir said. “That’s what Zaki is.”

“He is a wise-

“He is an old fool,” Kabir said firmly. “He never should have told you.”

“I wanted to know,” Altair said but it sounded weak.

“Did you, really?”

“I… think so?”

“Eat, you’ll feel better,” Kabir said.

Altair ate in silence for a bit and Kabir did not let there be an oppressive air and was cheerful even as he ate. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Kabir stopped and looked at him. “Do not thank me. It is no great thing I did. It is just what you deserve.” Water pricked at Altair’s eyes again. “I am surprised you called me. You never let me up here.”

“I do not want your sisters to talk.”

“Even though they’re right?”

“I do not welcome unneeded rumors. And it isn’t… like that.”

“I know. You know. So what does it matter what people think?”

“Because it _matters_ what people think,” Altair sort of growled.

“I guess,” Kabir shrugged. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to call on me. I would not want you to suffer in silence as you do. Would you have called me if Malik was here? Or would you have let him see you like this?” Altair looked away and that was enough of an answer. Kabir smiled. “Thank you, for trusting me.”

“One of the few men I can,” Altair said and rubbed at his eyes and nose uselessly.

“Well I am honored to be in that number. Do you feel better with some food in your stomach?”

“A bit,” Altair admitted. He looked at Kabir and didn’t feel as bad as he had. “Kabir,” he said and then stopped.

“Hmm?”

“Is there… something wrong with me?” he asked and touched his chest, just next to his heart.

Kabir’s eyes got big. “Wrong with you, Altair? Why would you say that?”

“Zaki told me Azrael loved me. But is that what love looks like, feels like? I don’t know and now I am questioning everything I feel.”

Kabir’s eyes got hard. “You question your feelings for Malik and his for you?”

“And if I am becoming him. Do I treat Kamal like that? Do I treat Jihad like that?”

“Altair,” Kabir got on his knees and shimmied over to him. Altair started when Kabir grabbed his face in both hands firmly. “Malik is in love with you and is bad at telling you, but trust me. When I asked him about you all he does is wax the most poetic love sick words I have heard from someone in a long time. Kamal adores you and looks up to you like a father. He knows you will do whatever it takes to keep him safe. I have not met Jihad but I’m sure he loves you too. You do not give yourself nearly enough credit my friend. You are _not_ like Azrael. He did not know how to love and he did not want you to love either.

“Do you not see that is what he did to you? He killed your cat and took you away from all of your friends because he was afraid that you loved. Because he was an old man who lost everything and you were all he had left. He did not want to share you.

“There is nothing wrong with you Altair except that perhaps you love more deeply than you know you do.” He smiled a little. “Frankly I’m a bit jealous of Malik, Kamal, and Jihad, because you do love them. Do not question how you feel. Your feelings are true.”

“You don’t say this just to make me feel better.”

“I do not lie to you, Altair, like you don’t to me. I save my kind lies for men who lie to themselves. Does that make sense?” Altair nodded and Kabir released his face gently.

“Is it wrong though, that I worry my relationship with Malik is sick? Azrael hurt me and I forgave him, and loved him and he betrayed me. I… haven’t forgotten what Malik has done.”

“Do you forgive him?”

“Most of the time,” Altair said, looking away. “And then other times I can’t even look at myself.”

“But you love him?”

“Yes. And I miss him, so much.”

“Even though he hurt you?”

“Yes. Is that wrong? Should I not forgive him?”

“Do you want to forgive him?”

“Yes.”

“Then there is nothing wrong,” Kabir touched his shoulder. “Men make mistakes. You did and were given a second chance. You don’t think Malik sometimes looks at you and is reminded you cost him his arm, his brother, his rank, and his dignity?” Altair nodded a little. It crossed his mind more time than he liked to admit. “And yet still he forgives you, and loves you. You speak to one another and know how the other feels which is more than I can say for other men I help who will barely admit they are friends with the one they love. Your relationship is not sick, or wrong, or bad. You two have a lot of history and you overcome it and that’s what a relationship is. Now, any other questions I need to set your straight on?”

“How are you so good, Kabir? Dealing with us idiots all the time?”

Kabir laughed. “Ah, I train in patience, meditate, and one of the instructors is a friend. He lets me beat up one of the punching dummies sometimes when I cannot stand how stupid you are all. Through no fault of your own. You were trained this way and I do not fault you for your lack of interpersonal relationships. A killer who loves can love something more than killing, and that does not make a good killer.”

“You are very wise, Kabir. Thank you for coming and being with me.”

Kabir’s smile was warm, “Of course, my friend.”

Altair hesitated. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to face the darkness of his dreams by himself tonight. “I— would you…” Kabir cocked his head to the side. “I do not want anything,” he said to clarify in the beginning and Kabir just rose his brows in confusion. “But would you stay with me tonight?”

Kabir’s face softened. “Of course,” his tone was gentle and kind. “Whatever you need, Altair, I am here to help you.”

“Thank you. I do not want to be alone right now.”

Kabir smiled again, “You are never alone Altair. You have Kamal, and your guards, and Rauf, and all of your men.”

“I still feel alone with them,” Altair said softly.

“I will stay the night, and however many nights you wish me to stay,” Kabir said.

“Don’t tell Malik.”

“I would never,” Kabir promised. “I think he thinks you’re in love with me in some way, or I’m in love with you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know!” and when Kabir laughed Altair laughed a bit as well. “Lets finish dinner and then maybe you’d like to show me your grandfather’s journal? Perhaps we can find where that man went?”

Altair nodded. “I’d like that,” he said and Kabir’s smile warmed him all the way through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story consider leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.


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